The Price of Pity
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: AU In the early days of their marriage, Eowyn helps Faramir accept the loss of his brother, father…and first wife.
1. Chapter One Midnight Intruder

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter one of "The Price of Pity". This story is the sequel to "Wounded" but it is not at all necessary to read the first fic to understand this one. This fic takes place post-War of the Ring and has some AU elements. It is officially an Eowyn/Faramir pairing, though there are numerous mentions of a past Faramir/OC pairing. This story starts in medias res (the middle of things) so a majority of chapters will contain flashbacks and back-story. I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I would greatly appreciate any feedback on this fic, should I continue or no? Constructive criticism, both negative and positive, is most welcome. I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** In the early days of their marriage, Eowyn helps Faramir accept the loss of his brother, father…and first wife.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**The Price of Pity**

**Chapter One The Midnight Intruder**

_October 3019 Third Age_

Eowyn could not sleep. The hollow chill of Minas Tirith after nightfall surrounded her, touched the flesh on her thin arms and made all the world seem pale. Starlight fell through the window, icily illuminating the bedchamber. Ghosts trod as shadows in the hall.

Eowyn nibbled her lower lip. Unfriendly eyes watched her, accusing eyes._ Usurper_, a dead voice whispered. _Intruder_. Forgotten moans gnawed at her ears.

She suddenly wished that their house in Ithilien was ready and they could leaves this place. Memory clung to the very stones.

Eowyn rolled over and pulled the blanket over her breasts. Faramir slept soundly beside her, a frown shaping his lips and furrowing his brow. What dreams haunted him still? Thoughts of fire perhaps and death groans. Blood spilling from a fair brow.

Eowyn shut her eyes. The cadence of her pulse thundered through her veins. She listened and soon the imagined noises stopped. And the ghosts returned to the cold clay ground, exactly where they belonged.

Her nerves were stretched thin. Any moment they might snap, leaving her in tears that she could not explain. Why had she come to this tormented place?

Faramir sighed, his arm flopping over the valley between her hips and chest. She rested her hand over his own, the warmth of his flesh chasing away her nightmares.

Yes, she loved him.

He had taken her from peril, shown her the sun and the happiness day could bring. Eowyn smiled and the coldness of the chamber eased into balmy breezes. She had come here for him.

Eowyn would have drifted to sleep, would have let slumber close her eyes and soften her heart…had not the wailing begun. She stiffened at once and the sound terrified her.

The Witch-king's screams, she thought and horror made her skin tingle with cold sweat. Of course not, reason chided her. It was only the child.

The child? From whence had he come? She had no child. And then Eowyn remembered.

Faramir's child, little Miresgal, with his sharp face and challenging eyes. He was only a babe and yet so stern, so harsh.

They said he much resembled his mother. Angry, misled, wounded. And from the whispers the servants spread through the halls, Eowyn could not decide if they were pleased at the mother's demise or not.

She had fallen bravely, crowning a wretched life with one moment of glory. It was what she had always hoped for, Faramir had said. To be remembered.

But Eowyn did not want to remember her, that strange female that dwelled in the recesses of Faramir's mind and haunted hers.

Miresgal screamed. Eowyn clutched the side of the bed. Her fingers fisted in the mattress. The nursery lay two doors down from their chamber. Straining to listen, she expected soon to hear the soothing tones of the nursemaid quieting the child, singing lullabies in the rolling Elven tongue.

But the child never silenced and the nursemaid seemed never to come. Eowyn glanced at Faramir's bare back. Would he wake and go to his son? He was a good father, attentive and soft-spoken despite his pain. Only he seemed to have a way with Miresgal.

Faramir mumbled something, a name maybe and fell deeper into sleep. Eowyn felt her shoulders sag.

It had been too soon. Eomer was right. She should not have wed Faramir so shortly after the death of his wife. Patience should have kept her away, waiting until his pain dulled, until he could love her fully.

But she had been eager to marry, to dim her own pain. The prospect of being a mother to a child that was not her own troubled her little. Often Eowyn spent her hours amongst young Rohirric children, how different could motherhood be? She had expected soft smiles, a round face and laughter. But Miresgal was miserable.

The crying continued and Eowyn fought the urge to stop her ears. Would the child tire himself out?

No, she had known him to screech for hours on end, calling for someone who would not come.

Sympathy tugged at her as she recalled her own dark hours. Often she wished her mother would cross the threshold of her bower and sing her to sleep.

Eowyn reached for her robe that lay on a nearby chair. She pulled it over her arms and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor caressed her bare feet.

Faramir did not notice her leave-taking and she took care to shut the door quietly. Shadows grew in the corridor, threatening her with cruel glances and whispers.

_Intruder. Usurper. _

Eowyn held herself erect as she walked. Her feet made low, pattering sounds, her robe whispering in the breeze. She past a thin window that showed the moon, sad and alone in a sea of jealous stars.

Miresgal's chamber door opened silently for her and she found the nursemaid asleep by the fire.

"Lazy woman," she muttered. The nursemaid snored in reply.

Miresgal sat on his small bed, his blankets rumpled. One of his pillows lay on the floor.

"What ails you child?" Eowyn asked in what she thought was a kind voice. Miresgal wailed and threw his remaining pillow at her head. It fell at her feet. She stooped, picked it up and laid it beside him.

"That was not kind, Miresgal."

The child flopped back down on his bed and covered his face. Eowyn regarded him for a moment. She had known two-year-olds to have fits at every occasion, but this child could not be normal. Strange blood flowed through his veins. Perhaps that fueled his rage.

"Why do you cry?" Eowyn asked. She sat on the bed and stroked his back. Miresgal flinched at her touch.

A moment of silence past and Eowyn waited for him to answer. The child spoke little, often using the speech of the Elves that still bewildered her. At length, Miresgal turned his head to the side. His fair hair shielded his face.

"Naneth?"

A hot lump lodged in Eowyn's throat. She knew he asked for his mother.

"Naneth?"

"Miresgal, you…" But she could not speak. Her voice shriveled within her.

The child rolled onto his back and stared at her with his cold blue eyes. "Naneth?"

Eowyn's chin trembled and at once she felt alone, alone and watched by a ghost.

_Intruder. Usurper.

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **Those of you that have read "Wounded" might be a bit confused, but I promise things will clear up shortly. Thank you so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. The next chapter will be up in under a week.


	2. Chapter Two Confusion and Grief

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter two of "The Price of Pity". In this chapter, the first of what will be a series of flashbacks occurs. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read the first chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **Celebne**, **Nari-chan SND**, **Awen1923**, **childofGod-4ever**, and **ElfLuver13**. I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Two Confusion and Grief**

Faramir awoke with the sun. The dawn spoke of softness, with a mild breeze to caress his flesh and touch his hair. He sat up and found his tunic by the foot of the bed. After he had settled it over his shoulders, Faramir glanced about the chamber. It was empty.

The blankets beside him were rumbled, the sheets askew. Eowyn's ivory robe was missing. He frowned. Perhaps she had gone for a walk. His wife professed a love for the morning and the gardens. Yes, she must have gone for a walk.

Faramir rose and stretched, pain catching in his right shoulder as he did so. Even after several months the wound was not healed and he sensed that it went deeper, burrowing past his bones into his soul. It would mark him for life.

A pitcher sat on a side table. He washed the sleep from his face and relished in the brisk touch of the water. Fresh it was, like a cold kiss pressed upon his cheeks by frigid lips.

It reminded him of Aniror.

Faramir clutched the sides of the table, his fingers curled about the worn wood. Aniror, he did not want to think of her though she haunted his nightmares and still lived on in the face of their son.

It was easier to be numb, he decided and to drive the shattered remnants of memory from his mind. Eowyn helped to soothe his aches, her smile like a balm applied to burning wounds.

Faramir let the water drip from his face before reaching for a cloth to dry his skin. He then proceeded to dress slowly, sitting upon the edge of his bed to slip his boots over his feet.

A tragedy it had been. Or rather, a series of losses. First his brother, then his father and finally his wife. Boromir he had loved, Denethor he had been loyal to and Aniror, well, he could not tell.

For seven years he had known her and for six they had been wed. Could he still find no answer to his feelings?

Faramir stood. Shame made his face flush. Their marriage had not been blissful and at its sweetest moments, indifference reigned. He dared to wonder if she was happy in death, if her end had provided a release from strain. But then he remembered her eyes as she cradled Miresgal in her arms and her smile as she listened to him coo.

The child would not know his rightful mother, not know the Elf who had come from Lorien and lost herself to the walls of the White City.

In a strange way he missed Aniror but did not want Eowyn to see his longing. Why should she suffer for a mistake he had made? No, he wished her to receive him whole and well, free from the smothering grasp of his first wife.

But Aniror's spirit still crept along the corridors and hid in his chamber.

He stared at the chair that sat by the hearth, wooden, with great carvings and a high back. Aniror used to sit there for hours, festering in her anger, wallowing in her delusions.

He could almost see her now….

* * *

_July 3013 Third Age_

Faramir did not go far into the chamber, he never did. Reason kept him in the shadow of the door along with some undefined fear. His heart froze every time he looked upon her.

She was sitting in the large chair by the hearth. Embers glowed against the blackened stones. The servants had not yet come to revive the fire and with the already smothering heat of the morn, there seemed no need to

A book was in her hand, opened to a page that she seldom glanced at. His wife never read the words before her but seemed to lose herself to memory.

Faramir did not want to know her memories.

Morning sun came into the chamber through a thin window. The shutters had been thrown back sometime during the night, most likely by her hand. Often he awoke to find her staring at the stars or so he fancied. Even his dreams deceived him these days.

His wife shifted. The milky hem of her gown dangled over the arm of the chair. He wondered if she sensed his presence.

Faramir cleared his throat. His airway constricted and crushed every breath that tried to escape from his lungs.

Were they all drowning?

"My lady?" It was a strange title for a strange creature. She was no lady and had not been in her previous life. How little he knew of her.

She did not respond and he was accustomed to her silence. He was accustomed to the way she made him feel like a fool.

Faramir did not hesitate now. Pain was best finished with quickly. "I wondered if you would join me this morn."

Not a question exactly, he thought, but perhaps she would open her thin lips now.

Young sparrows fluttered past the window and seemed to laugh at them. Faramir watched the small birds. He envied their wings. Oh, to be gifted with flight.

When his wife did not answer, he took a chance and stepped further into the chamber. Now he could see her hand resting upon her knee, a hint of her hair falling to her waist.

"My lady?"

"Will the piglet be there?"

Faramir winced. She had a strange sobriquet for his brother Boromir and often voiced it. He was only glad that Boromir's hearing seemed directed elsewhere whenever she spoke. Otherwise the two would fall into a battle which would lengthen into a war, just as they had fought so viciously thirty leagues from Lothlorien.

"Yes, so I suspect."

She seemed to weigh his words. "I am occupied."

"Of course." His sarcasm sliced the hot air. The chair wobbled. He had surprised her, a rare thing indeed.

"I said I am occupied," she replied. Her hand tightened over her knee.

"Too occupied to attend breakfast?" Faramir took a step closer. "When do you intend to take food, then?"

"When I wish."

She had ways of irritating him, small, dark ways that caused his judgment to lapse and his heart to pound all the more angrily. She acted as a sovereign, a lofty queen upon a golden throne with no one to answer to.

But his wife was no queen and never would be. An exile, yes, but no queen.

"I wish you to dine with me," he said at last. She only laughed. Faramir curled his fingers into fists.

"For a long month you have dwelled in the house of the Stewards and still you refuse to extend to me any courtesy." He heard the harshness in his voice at once and bit back the venom. She took offense so easily.

His wife did not speak, allotting herself time to think. Swiftness of thought was not a talent she possessed. But she could work her tongue around a lie. Oh, she could lie.

"A _long _month, my lord?"

"I suspect you have counted the days, my lady." Something in his tone must have jabbed at her for she sat upright this time and stared at him.

"And you have counted the minutes," she said.

Faramir stifled a sigh. "My only wish is to help you."

"Then perhaps you should have stayed in Gondor from the first and not sought me in Lorien," her voice softened and he sensed her regret. But did she truly regret her crimes or did she only wish to avoid punishment? "I would have been most pleased to be left alone, to remain in my homeland with my kin."

Faramir leaned closer to his wife but she recoiled. "And I would have left you there, had you not lowered yourself to the basest of crimes. Do you wish to wander the wilderness for the rest of your years or pass through the Havens?"

She did not answer. Faramir scowled. "Then I should think a life with me is the lesser of any evil."

"Leave me."

And Faramir was quite tempted to. She looked at him with wild eyes and he felt too weary to argue with the once more irate Elf.

"I said leave me!"

Her haughtiness would drive him mad. In one short stride Faramir closed the distance between her and him, pulling the book from her grasp. She did not fight him, but rather looked astonished by his force. Her hands flailed for an instant but she quickly regained her composure.

"Aniror, I wish you to take breakfast with me." Faramir rarely used her name. He had little need to.

Aniror did not speak but she kept her eyes fixed upon his. No longer did he see the fairness of the Elves that shone in Lorien. No longer did he see her wisdom.

Perhaps it had never existed.

"No."

"That is all you will say?"

"Yes."

He straightened and his shadow stretched across her form. With a limp hand, he returned her book to her lap. She looked away from him.

Faramir left and as he pulled open the great chamber door, her old words of warning sounded coldly in his mind.

_There shall come a time when you will hate me. You will curse the day when you called me wife and brought me forth from exile into Gondor. And then I will come to hate you._

Faramir leaned upon the doorframe and his mind reel with fresh sorrow. So this had been the price of his pity.

* * *

Faramir fled the chamber, leaving his memories and the ghosts alone in that sunlit room. He wanted to see Eowyn, desperately. He wanted to see her fair face and the promise that lit her eyes.

She had saved him from despair, from grief. He owed her more than his life.

Faramir slowed his pace as he walked down the corridor. The household was just waking and the King would soon call for him. Reports would be discussed, trade and the condition of the city. Faramir found he enjoyed such meetings. Normalcy was restored through numbers and letters. Soon he hoped to lose himself in this new rhythm of life. A new life with Eowyn.

Faramir frowned. Where was she?

A high-pitched shriek froze his blood. A door burst open and a tiny child tore into the hall.

"Ada! Ada!" Miresgal cried. Tears threatened to splash down his quickly reddening cheeks. The nursemaid was on his heels, but not swift enough to catch him. At once, Miresgal was pummeling Faramir's knees with his little fists. "Get _her _out of my room, Ada! Get _that _lady out!"

And then Eowyn was in the corridor. Her hand scrubbed her cheek. "Faramir, he struck me!"

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for reading. Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. The next chapter will be up in under a week.


	3. Chapter Three Morning Disturbance

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter three of "The Price of Pity". I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **Celebne**, **The Phoenician**, **Awen1923**, **Sarahbarr17**, and **ElfLuver13**. I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's work.

**Chapter Three Morning Disturbance**

Eowyn awoke not with her head upon a pillow, but pressed to the chilled stone floor. She forced herself upright. Her muscles ached from a night spent in misery. Miresgal was no longer in his bed and the nursemaid had left her chair. She frowned and flipped back her tangled tresses. Did neither one of them have the decency to wake her?

Eowyn had spent half the night trying to lull the child to sleep with Rohirric songs. But that seemed only anger little Miresgal further and he shouted at her in the Elven tongue. Shortly before dawn he had fallen silent or she had fallen asleep. Eowyn could not tell. She stood and pulled the thick fabric of her robe tighter about her waist.

The flesh on her arms crawled. She could feel the frown of Faramir's first wife upon her. Aniror was her name, Aniror who had come from Lorien and had her skull hewn in two when the city had been besieged. Aniror, that wretched Elf.

_Bed my husband and steal my son. _

Eowyn could almost hear her accusations. They came in the form of a breathy voice, ringing in her ears and causing her heart to turn over. Her imagination ran wild and made the sunbeams coming through the window take shape. Flashes of light hair and angry eyes filled her thoughts. She hated to be watched.

Eowyn sank onto the side of Miresgal's tiny bed. The soft mattress cushioned her cold hips. Tapestries fluttered upon the walls, the faces of Elven archers stitched with an unsteady hand. Curiosity tempted her. She wondered what sort of creature could cause the servants to whisper and Miresgal to wail and Faramir to grow so pale. Why should a wicked lady be lamented?

She had heard bits of the tale. Faramir had been honest in some ways, secretive in others. He told her how he met his wife and how she came to Gondor, but said nothing more. Lothiriel, his younger cousin, had provided a few small stories, as had Queen Arwen.

And then there had been the Elf, Faeleth, come to Gondor with her people to witness the King's wedding…and to collect her sister's body. Eowyn had wished to speak more fully with Faeleth. But the poor creature seemed beyond words, having lost both husband and sister to the War.

Eowyn folded her arms across her middle. She wanted to know more, to know why darkness fell over Faramir and still haunted him even now. Had he truly loved Aniror whom he had professed to sometimes hate?

Heavy footsteps marred the perfect silence of the morning. Eowyn looked up as the nursemaid strolled into the chamber with Miresgal perched on her hip. She was speaking to the child, bouncing him up and down in a weak effort to soften his sour mood. But Miresgal squirmed in his nurse's arms and looked about desperately in search of someone he would never find.

"Ah, my lady." The small woman smiled, her ash colored hair tucked beneath a kerchief. "Good morn!"

Good morn indeed, Eowyn thought as she rubbed a sore spot on her neck. She tried to smile but felt little civility toward the woman who had not troubled to wake her.

"I was quite surprised to see you, my lady," the woman continued on. Miresgal kicked her side but she seemed not to notice. "I did not even hear you enter last night!"

"And nor did you hear the child cry," Eowyn replied somewhat tersely. "He wailed until dawn, it seemed. I tried to soothe him."

"Oh." The nurse's round face fell and she glanced at the floor. "He has a nasty habit of that, my lady. You should not trouble yourself with it."

Eowyn was about to reply when Miresgal let out another piercing shriek. She cringed and the nurse turned her attention to her little charge.

"Miresgal, child!" she said and began to babble on in the Elven tongue. What she had said, Eowyn decided, was apparently not agreeable to Miresgal for the child screamed all the more.

"What is the matter?" Eowyn stood. The nursemaid flushed.

"Never mind him, my lady. Perhaps you should go."

"But why?" Eowyn raised a brow. She had not spent the past eve trying to calm the child to be ordered out of his nursery the next morn. Miresgal twisted about in the woman's arms and stared at Eowyn, his eyes wild.

"Get _that _lady out of my room!" he demanded in garbled Westron.

The nurse looked apologetically at Eowyn. "He is tired, my lady, please you must excuse…"

"Get _her _out!" Miresgal cried. And then he was like a fish, wiggling and jerking in the poor nurse's grasp.

"Ah, stay steady child!" she panted and tried to swing him over her shoulder. But Miresgal would have none of it. He kicked and flailed and screamed, his race red in the fresh light of the morning sun.

"Put him down," Eowyn said hastily. "You shall drop him if you don't! Put him down."

The woman complied and lowered the child to the ground. He stopped squirming at once and turned to stare at Eowyn with furious indignity.

"Miresgal," Eowyn sighed, kneeling before him. She tried to draw him close but he recoiled and clung to the nurse's leg. "You must not be so unkind to your poor nurse and you must not scream. It is not right for a young lord to act like a wild horse."

Miresgal seemed to listen to her and when she finished, a deep frown cut into his young face. Without warning, his hand flew out and connected with Eowyn's cheek. And then he wailed, racing from the room before the nursemaid could catch him.

"Oh my lady!" the woman gasped. Eowyn leapt to her feet. No pain stung her flesh though anger infused her cheeks with crimson. With an annoyed grunt, she rushed out into the corridor.

* * *

Eowyn had not decided on a course of action as she hurried down the hall, the nursemaid trotting just before her. Never had she punished a child. She frowned. And never had she been faced with such a little demon.

No, not a demon, her conscience reminded her. She must understand. She must be patient…

Eowyn shook her head and her hair whipped across her face. Patience did not come easily when faced with the hysteria of a wild child.

The nursemaid halted at once and Eowyn tripped over the hem of gown. One hand shot out to brace herself against the wall.

"Lord Faramir," the nurse curtsied. Eowyn looked up and saw her husband standing several paces away, assaulted by his young son.

"Ada! Ada!" Miresgal clung to his knees. Faramir looked down at him and then up at Eowyn. Sleep still clouded his eyes.

Without a thought, Eowyn raised her hand to her cheek as if to conceal the child's wickedness. But there was nothing for it. Faramir must know. She took a deep breath.

"Faramir, he struck me."

The shock that overwhelmed her husband was evident. His gaze cut down to his son and he frowned.

"Miresgal, is this true?"

But Miresgal must have inherited the art of manipulation from his mother. He glanced back at Eowyn, chin trembling and then crushed his face against Faramir's shin.

The boy said something softly in the Elven tongue and Eowyn suspected it was not in her favor.

"I am sure he did not mean such disrespect," Eowyn said as she struggled to give her little stepson the benefit of the doubt. After all, he was but a babe.

Faramir did not reply. He rested his hand atop his son's brow and as if planned, Miresgal let forth a fresh wave of tears. Eowyn stifled a sigh.

"The nursemaid saw most of it," she continued. "Is that not right?" The nursemaid glanced back at Eowyn as she spoke and her eyes went wide.

"Oh, no," the woman muttered. "Oh no Lord Faramir! I saw very little of the incident. You must forgive this disturbance, my lord. Miresgal wept long into the night and I could not soothe him."

Eowyn's thin eyebrows shot up. Did the nursemaid dare lie? Well, she certainly would not permit the lazy woman to vilify her!

She stepped forward and brushed past the haughty nursemaid. "Faramir, I feel I must-

But Faramir did not even glance up at the sound of her voice. With a smile, he swept his young son into his arms.

"Is that so?" he said and his grey eyes softened like mist ceding to the rising sun. He continued on in Sindarin and at once made Miresgal's tears stop and his face fold into a smile. Eowyn glanced at the nursemaid, hoping for an indication of what passed between father and son. She received only a blank stare.

Miresgal giggled and Eowyn did not know why the sound irked her. Perhaps because the child had shirked a punishment, a punishment he deserved.

"My lord Steward?" A clipped voice seeped into the mild morning air. Both Faramir and Eowyn wheeled about to see a young servant standing a short way down the corridor. The lad presented them with a warm smile, undoubtedly thinking he had interrupted a tender domestic moment.

Annoyance curled in Eowyn's gut. How wrong he was.

At Faramir's nod, the boy took a deep breath, his chest swelling beneath the King's livery. "If it would please the Lord Steward and his wife, Lady Eowyn, King Elessar and Queen Arwen request your presence this morning at breakfast."

Faramir glanced over his shoulder at Eowyn and she offered him an assenting smile.

"Of course," he said. "Tell the King that we would be honored to accept his invitation."

The servant bowed, scurrying off down the hall with a light step. Faramir placed a quick kiss on Miresgal's brow and handed him back to the nursemaid.

"Off with you now," he said, unable to contain a smile. "And mind yourself."

He then took Eowyn's arm and proceeded to lead her back to their bedchamber.

"Forgive him," Faramir muttered in her ear. The touch of his breath sent a delightful tingle down her spine. "For my sake."

Eowyn felt her anger melt at once. "I already have."

But as she walked with her husband down the corridor, Eowyn heard the retreating footsteps of the nursemaid.

"You have caused enough trouble this morn, Miresgal," the woman whispered. "You are too much like your mother, it seems. Too much."

Concern and curiosity stirred within Eowyn, along with a rising chill. Memories of death and a life not well lived lurked in the Citadel. She clutched her husband's arm as they walked.

Who was this Aniror?

* * *

**Author's Note: **For those of you still wondering about Aniror, she will return (through flashbacks of course) in chapter five as the story of her life with Faramir continues to unfold and will become a main character in this story. I have a busy week approaching next week, with two midterms and a paper due all on the same day. Updates will be regular, being six days apart. Therefore the next chapter will be up on Sunday the 25th. Thank you all so much for reading! Please, take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. Feedback will certainly make me smile whilst I am buried amidst my school books! 


	4. Chapter Four Forgotten

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter four of "The Price of Pity". This will be the last "frustrating" chapter as some of you have put it. After this, Faramir will slowly go back to his old self and Miresgal will certainly learn not to be so bratty to Eowyn. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read the last chapter and also those who reviewed, **childofGod-4ever**, **MerryKK**, **ElfLuver13**, **Celebne**, **Awen1923**, **Sarahbarr17**, and **Nari-chan SND**. Thank you all! I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Four Forgotten**

By the time Faramir and Eowyn settled themselves at the King's table, all mention of that morning's incident was dropped. Eowyn felt fresh and fair, like a spring dawn with a new wind. By her left, Faramir appeared the same, except his eyes were heavy with unspoken thoughts. Eowyn stared into the goblet of bright wine before her. She wondered what perilous memories crossed his mind.

The King had decided to take breakfast in a private chamber overlooking a garden. The large arched windows opened to the sky and hinted at the vines draping the walls. Queen Arwen tilted her head, her dark hair incasing her shoulder as she looked out the window.

"Autumn comes swiftly," she said in her clear Elven voice. Eowyn felt herself smile and Aragorn laughed lowly as he sat by his wife's elbow.

"Never shall an Elf tire of gazing at the heavens," he said. A servant brought about a platter of ham sliced thick with amber honey drizzled over it. Once the company had been served, conversation bubbled about the table, though often Eowyn noticed her mind drifting.

"My compliments," Faramir said. He bowed his head slightly when addressing the King. "My lord keeps a fine table."

Aragorn leaned back in his chair and a languid grin crossed his lips. "Much different than the common fare of a Ranger, I should say, or hope. In the Wild, I was not often granted satisfying meals."

"Then you should have come with me to Ithilien," Faramir replied. "We kept a good enough store at Henneth Annun, wine and cheese, good fresh bread. Soldiers must be strengthened in the darkest of days."

"The words of a great captain," Aragorn said and now he inclined his noble head. "I should have been honored to serve by your side, dear Steward. A shame that time and chance have interceded."

"Be not so quick to shame time and chance," Arwen said. The ember-colored sleeves of her gown ruffled as she moved. To Eowyn it sounded as a running stream and she wondered if not all of the Elven folk possessed the same grace. Then her pale brow furrowed. Certainly no one spoke so highly of Aniror. What could have caused that Elf to shy from the light?

Eowyn noticed Arwen's eyes upon her and a keen tingle caused her flesh to crawl. She had heard tell that Elves could read the minds' of Men. The notion was uncomfortable yet not unwelcome.

"Tell me, Lady Eowyn," Arwen said at length. "How fares little Miresgal? Often my thoughts turn to him, he who is partly of my kin."

Perhaps it was the horrible lack of sleep or the heady wine served with breakfast, for the truth came to Eowyn's lips before she could quell it.

"Disagreeable," she said.

Faramir spun about in his chair, his elbow disrupting a platter of pastries. Aragorn's eyebrows shot up and almost seemed to hide beneath the line of his hair. Arwen alone remained impassive.

"By which I mean…" Eowyn stammered. "By which I mean that he wailed long into the night and would not be soothed."

A moment of tense silence passed before Faramir spoke.

"Or by which you mean," he said. "My son was disagreeable this morn when he awoke to find you in his chamber, a stranger to him."

"Of course, it must have been a shock," Eowyn said. Her blood had already begun to simmer. "One which I sincerely apologize for. But he should not have struck me."

Aragorn mumbled into his goblet. Faramir seemed to forget his King's presence.

"A matter which we did not settle on," he said. Eowyn swiveled about to face her husband. His grey eyes were too hard for her liking.

"A matter which we did not settle because you refuse to believe him capable of any evil!"

"Then perhaps the matter should be dropped altogether," Arwen interposed. Her low but regal tone eased the tension at once.

"Indeed." Aragorn set down his goblet. Faramir and Eowyn turned their gazes away from each other and a soft breeze coming through the window blew away the heat of argument.

"Tell me, my Steward," Aragorn began, skillfully wheeling away from any harmful subjects. "What news of the city do you bring?"

* * *

After a long afternoon spent amongst parchment and quills, Faramir took himself to the gardens. An early twilight passed over the heavens. The sun set like a ruby in the West. To the East, there grew a shadow, though not the dark shadow of the old days that had felled his mother. Deep blue was the sky, with waking stars and a bright moon that cast silver over Gondor.

Faramir smiled and folded his hands behind his back. Perhaps he should have called Eowyn to walk with him, to witness the end of another day and praise the night. A tense knot coiled tighter in his chest. No, he wanted to be alone…and he wanted to remember.

Guilt caused his heart to ache. Faramir truly wished for his wife's company, though he did not wish to sort through the problems that had plagued them that day.

There seemed no end to Miresgal's tantrums and Eowyn would not turn a deaf ear to his hysterics. And then there was his grief, a river pouring into a rising ocean that threatened to flood the world. Brother, father and wife. All had fallen into peril and he had saved none.

A breeze turned the leaves on the trees lining the pathway. He heard a murmur, breathy, enchanting but cruel. Suddenly, Faramir was aware of the garden he walked in. Aniror had favored it during her time in Minas Tirith, one of the only things she had come to love in Gondor.

"Fear not, Lord Faramir. I am no ghost."

Faramir turned about, beckoned by the sound of a kind voice. Queen Arwen stood behind him.

"No." He bowed and took a step toward her. "Though there are many ghosts in this place."

"Not the one you seek."

Arwen took hold of the arm he offered her and together they strolled for a time in silence. Faramir found he could not tear his gaze from her face. She was an Elf, yet not at all like Aniror. In her eyes there was kindness. And in her smile he sensed tranquility.

"I did not know Aniror," Arwen said at length. She paused and the train of her gown stirred the grass. "I dwelled for a time in the land of Lothlorien, my grandmother's realm, which your wife called home. But Aniror was a shadow, slipping through the trees only when she pleased and seeming to shun the promise of day."

Faramir felt something catch in his throat. Aniror had often said that she preferred the beauty of night, gazing at the stars for hours as if she thought they would fade and abandon her.

"Elves are not Men. Men are not Elves," Arwen continued. "Her passing remains a strange thing to you."

"I think of her…often," Faramir admitted.

"It is expected," Arwen replied. She laid her hand on his arm. "As it is expected for you to mourn her. She was your wife."

"And yet I did not love her." Faramir turned from the Elf, swallowing the sorrow that threatened him.

Arwen sighed. "That I cannot believe, Lord Faramir, for elflings are not born from hate, but only from the utmost care and affection."

"Then I wish to hate her." Faramir glanced over his shoulder at her. "So that I might love Eowyn fully."

Arwen settled herself on the grass. The shade of a tree fell over her. "Do you think you can only love one and not another?"

Faramir began to reply but Arwen smiled and he did not speak. A different being the Queen was. Sad and silent and soft. Had Aniror possessed such gentleness within her? Was she not something more than anger and hate? He would never know.

"Did your love for your son distract from your brother?" The Queen asked. She rested her long fingers beside her.

Faramir inhaled and the thick scent of soil eased his mind. "No."

"Then there is no greater difference between Aniror of Lothlorien and Eowyn of Rohan. One has gone to her end, yes, but still she listens and watches."

"I mind that," Faramir replied. "I mind it every time I feel her chilled presence."

"Then why do you shy from her?"

Faramir faced his Queen fully. Sickening tears misted his eyes, frustrated tears that choked him. He wanted to be done with Aniror.

"I wish to lose her memory," he said. "For she is lost to me."

And he left the garden. His footsteps echoed down the pathway. He wanted to be free of his entombing past. For what good were tears shed for one he would never see again?

"There is certainty in nothing, Faramir," Arwen said suddenly. He faltered as her voice reached him and hope bloomed in his mind. Yet then he thought of Eowyn and the new life he wanted with her.

No, Aniror was best left dead.

* * *

Eowyn traversed the long hallway that led to her chamber. The sun slanted in through the windows and the approach of night was heralded by a faint moon. She paused by one casement, her elbows planted upon the stone sill. The White City was red with the sunset, with only a hint of ivory coming from where the shadows lurked.

So different from Rohan, she thought. But not terribly unpleasant. She had learned to love Minas Tirith through Faramir's eyes, though Eowyn could not imagine Aniror favoring the city over her woodland home. How must she have fared here?

"Poorly." A familiar voice strode closer to her along with its owner. The King smiled. "You said that young Miresgal does poorly."

"Yes, sire." Eowyn moved from the window and curtsied.

"Arise, fair lady," Aragorn said. He took her arm in his and Eowyn walked down the corridor with him, glad at least from some cheerful company. "Do you go to visit your stepson now?"

"No," Eowyn replied ashamedly. In truth, she had not the resolve to face the child again, he frustrated her so. "I await my husband's return. Have you seen him?"

"I have," Aragorn said. "He departed my presence before the sun began to fall and thought to take to the gardens."

"Oh." Eowyn tried not to let her disappointment show. Why had Faramir gone alone? The King seemed to sense her upset.

"But I am glad for it," he said. "For now I have a short time to converse with you. Eowyn, there is something I must ask you."

Eowyn raised a brow and found a mirthful grin for her King. "My lord whispers like a little boy. Have you been caught stealing sweets from the kitchens?"

Aragorn halted and faced her. "Lady, your humor is much needed. No, I have not come to confess a misdeed. It is Lord Faramir whom I wish to discuss."

"Of course." Eowyn nodded. Dread climbed within her. All this talk of grief would drive her mad.

"As you know, I learned the treasured art of healing from the Elves of Rivendell and as a healer, my concern grows. Lord Faramir seems to flounder in his sorrow. Is this not true?" Aragorn asked.

Eowyn nibbled her lower lip. Should she be honest with him?

"Yes," she said at length. "He does. And the child as well. Miresgal cannot be controlled."

"I feared such," Aragorn bent his head in thought. "The passing of an Elven spouse is not an easy thing. Many Elves die along with their loved ones, so strong is their commitment and love."

"Do you think Faramir will die?" she asked. Fear made her fingers tremble.

Aragorn raised his head. "No, your husband is in little peril. But I do worry. Perhaps he shall never be the same."

Eowyn slipped her arm from Aragorn's grasp. "Then what am I to do?" She could not bear the thought of living with a husband that dwelled more on death than life. And she could not bear the thought of living without Faramir. The King was quiet for a long moment and Eowyn wished he would break the terrible silence that fell over them. Finally, at length he spoke.

"Did Faramir mourn Aniror's passing?"

She was stunned by the seemingly simple question. "Of course. He told me he wept over her body."

"As would have I," Aragorn said. "I saw her body in passing as they brought her to Faramir and I heard his sobs. Death did not take Aniror gently."

"Is that not enough though?"

"Perhaps." Aragorn bowed his head once more. "But I sense that Aniror's presence still haunts your husband and he will not be able to put her to rest until he decides to. She cannot be ignored forever."

"I think he would rather forget her," Eowyn said. The light from the dying sun warmed her back though she still felt chilled.

Aragorn bypassed her question. "Does he often speak of her?"

"My lord?"

"Does he often speak of Aniror?"

"No," Eowyn replied. "He told me little of her story and I asked for little more."

"Then mayhap he should." Aragorn took Eowyn's arm in his once more, leading her down the corridor. "If only for Miresgal's sake. Think of how it should be if one day your mother sat by your side and the next, she was never spoken of again. You are not Miresgal's mother Eowyn, and he knows that."

Eowyn wanted to speak, but Aragorn continued on with his incessant questions.

"And what of you, my lady? Are you not curious as to who Aniror was?"

Eowyn did not wish to admit that indeed she was. The King seemed to perceive her answer before she spoke it.

"Then I think you should speak with Faramir, question him. Let him talk of her so that she does not pass into death unlamented. Do you not agree?"

Eowyn was quite speechless for a moment. Had she been tricked into a grand rigmarole? In the end, however, she knew the King's judgment to be the most trustworthy. With her hands fisted in the folds of her gown, Eowyn curtsied a final time.

"Yes, my lord. Of course."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Poor Eowyn. She does not seem to be enjoying her time in Gondor at all. But I do promise things will change with the next chapter.

One thing I wanted to mention was Arwen's calling Miresgal her "kin". She did not speak of any blood relation between them (for Aniror was only a lowly soldier and Arwen a great Elven lady) but rather meant that Miresgal was part Elf and therefore, one of her kind.

Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts. Chapter five will be up on either Tuesday or Wednesday.


	5. Chapter Five The Dangers of Breakfast

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter five of "The Price of Pity". Each chapter from now on will be half flashback, half present time. I have indicated where the flashback begins and ends, but if you should find anything confusing with this formatting, please let me know. Also, there is a bit of Sindarin used in this chapter. I will not be using an over-abundance of Elvish in this story, for I find it distracting to the reader. Nevertheless, translations can be found at the end of the chapter. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and those who reviewed the last chapter, **The Phoenician**, **MerryKK**, **Lady Anck-su-namun**, **Nari-chan SND**, **ElfLuver13**, **Sarahbarr17**, and **Awen1923**. Thank you all! I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Five The Dangers of Breakfast**

Eowyn settled herself in the chair by the hearth and adjusted her gown so that it fell neatly over her ankles. A fire chewed fresh logs and spat ash upon the stone floor. The fur rug beneath her chair warmed her feet.

"_Ada? Ada, buiach?_" Miresgal tiny voice seeped into the darkening air and he leaned against his father's chest, one hand tugging at Faramir's collar. A smile warmed Faramir's eyes as he watched his son and listened to him chatter. Eowyn sighed. Miresgal might be troublesome, but he certainly helped his father to forget.

And yet according to the King, Faramir should not strive to forget at all. Eowyn frowned and their earlier conversation rushed through her mind. She did not wish to question her husband about all the particulars of his first marriage, not when he seemed so opposed to the lady he had called wife.

Would the telling of Aniror's tale truly unburden his mind? Eowyn had her doubts, many of them. Faramir shunned any mention of the Elf and she did not wish to push him into further discussion.

But the King was rarely wrong.

Eowyn shifted. There was nothing for it. Faramir would either politely decline such a conversation or speak. Or weep. Eowyn felt tension curl in her stomach. She did not wish to see him weep, no.

But Faramir seemed quite far from weeping now. He laughed along with Miresgal and his face looked young, untroubled and free from the cares that besieged him.

"_Abgerin hen_," Faramir said through his laughter. "_Telithon_."

Miresgal appeared pleased though Eowyn found only confusion in the strange tongue they spoke. Faramir would have to reveal it's intricacies to her, for she could not imagine thriving in Gondor with little knowledge of it.

"_Oltho vae_." Faramir leaned forward and kissed his son's brow. Miresgal kissed him back once on his lightly bearded cheek. The nursemaid stepped forward from the shadows and took the child into her arms. Eowyn found a smile for him as he was carried from the chamber, trying to forget her anger and forgive. But Miresgal frowned as he caught sight of her and buried his face in the nurse's shoulder.

"I hope he sleeps well this night," Faramir said. His neck turned about as he watched the door snap shut.

"As do I," Eowyn replied and hoped she did not sound vexed. Faramir leaned back in his chair with a yawn. One hand raked through his coppery hair.

"It is late. You must forgive my delayed return this night, dear Eowyn. I took to the gardens for a short time, just a short time."

Eowyn sensed an opening for her sensitive questions. She folded her hands upon her lap with a soft expression. "Why did you go there? Did you seek memories of Aniror?"

Faramir's eyes widened and his hand dropped back to his side. He said nothing for a long moment. Eowyn felt her breathing turn shallow. Had she upset him already?

But then Faramir dropped his gaze, his eyes searching the fire with guilt awakening in his glance. "Yes, yes I did. You must forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive." Eowyn shrugged and her thin shoulders rose beneath the soft cloth of her robe. "I see no wrong in it. You should think of her."

"But I do not wish to." Faramir rose and stalked across the chamber, his stride long and deliberate. He had a habit of pacing when troubled, Eowyn had noticed and with each step her heart jumped a little. She _had _upset him.

"I do not wish to remember the unhappiness she brought to this house. And…" here he paused, his voice a bit higher. "And I do not wish to remember the times of joy, for they were few and fleeting. Aniror is dead and perhaps better off. We should not speak of her."

Eowyn shook her head. Should she continue on or let the matter drop? Seeing his anguish now had turned her heart, it seemed and she began to think that Aragorn had been right. Faramir could not hide Aniror away in the shadows as a fragment of memory.

"Faramir," she said and stood. "I wish us to speak of her. I wish to know her tale."

"There is little to be said."

"There is much to be said. I have heard the servants whisper, I have heard Miresgal's cries and I have heard you mumble in sleep. Yes, I think there is much to be said."

He stopped his pacing for a moment and faced her. "It is not an easy tale to tell."

"I do not expect it to be," Eowyn said. She stepped forward and took his hands in hers. "But we shall bear it together."

"Much of it still remains shrouded to me," Faramir continued. He had paled, Eowyn noted and his hands trembled as if touched by ice. "I can only tell what I know and even that is elusive."

"Then it shall suffice." Eowyn led him back to the fire. Once more he sat in his chair and she in hers. Faramir rested his chin on his hand and seemed to think. She did not interrupt him. At length he spoke.

"It happened in the summertime," he began. Eowyn felt herself begin to smile but she hastily concealed it, masking her face with stoicism. "In the year 3012. I was in Ithilien and I met Aniror. She had thought to pass through the woods as she had been on an errand for the Lady Galadriel. You must understand that she was warden of the Lady's for many years and quite senior in her ranking, though not a captain. No, she never was a captain."

Eowyn nodded. Faramir paused, took a breath and then continued. "I can tell you little of how it happened. One night I heard her calling to me and I came. Foolish yes, but I was mindless when she beckoned me. I found her in a small glade that night and she seemed radiant. Kind and wise and fair. We became lovers in secret. Every night I left my post to see her and every night she waited for me. Until in the autumn, she left, asking me to find her in Lothlorien."

"I went, accompanied by my brother Boromir. He did not know the true purpose of our journey and I lied to both him and father. When we came to that strange land we were welcomed, but not by Aniror. She claimed not to recognize me and only later accepted my arrival to aid her own plight. The Lady Galadriel had released her from her service as a warden. Aniror thought that I might help her regain her position and so feigned her love for me only for her advancement. Much happened, but in the end her plot was discovered when she tried to lead one of her kin, a rival, into peril. Her revenge fell through and she was forced to leave her homeland, for although the Lady of Light pitied her greatly, she could no longer help Aniror."

Faramir stopped once more, appearing hesitant.

"And how did she come to Gondor then?" Eowyn asked at once, hoping to gently prod him on with her question.

But her husband bowed his head and when he spoke his voice was low, a murmuring that chilled her and drove away the fire's caress. "I do not wish to speak poorly of Aniror now that she has fallen. But I must speak the truth. Aniror was not kind, nor wise. She was a clever creature and liked to cause mischief and rumors and wicked lies. Not one of her kin stood by her when she left the light of Lothlorien. Not even her dear sister, whom I know Aniror greatly loved. I alone offered her aid, I alone offered her pity."

Faramir found his way to the hearth. His shadow fell against the floor, long and thin. Eowyn tucked her hands inside her robe. The air grew cold.

"You may ask my I brought her to Gondor and called her my wife after her exile. Well, she was my wife by the laws and customs of the Elves, for their union is achieved through the physical act of love. But why I brought her to Gondor, I do not know. My own brother begged me to leave her by the wayside and I spent many hours in deep debate myself. Even now I can give you no answer, save for my decision alone. When I departed Lothlorien with Boromir, Aniror accompanied us. She came to Gondor and I gave her the name wife and a place of shelter in my father's house."

"You were kind," Eowyn said. And for some reason she could not explain, tears darkened her eyes.

"I was foolish," Faramir muttered. "Very foolish. Aniror was not pleased but furious. For several days she appeared shocked and frightened by her new home. I was patient. But as the days lengthened into weeks, I realized she was simply being cruel. She presented me with a fair bit of trouble that first month and by the end of it I feared the rest of my life would fade into bleak misery."

"In four weeks time Aniror caused such despair?" Eowyn asked incredulously. To her great surprise, Faramir smiled.

"Three weeks, to be more exact."

Eowyn chuckled in astonishment. "How could one lady achieve such?"

Faramir returned to his chair and sat with a sigh. "By refusing to attend breakfast."

"I do not believe it!" Eowyn said.

Her husband's eyes glittered. "Then let me tell you."

* * *

_July 3013 Third Age_

Boromir stood at the end of a narrow corridor, his hand perched on the stone casement of a small window. Faramir slowed his step as he approached his brother, expecting a frown and a curious stare.

But Boromir was kind enough to look away, his eyes tilted out the window and fixed on the gardens below. Faramir halted several paces before him and clasped his hands behind his back. He could think of nothing to say.

Fortunately, his brother always made it a point to deal the opening blow.

"Your wife refuses to join us," he said. A thoughtful smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Either that or she has fled the Citadel and taken to the Wild, never to be seen again. Should I be foolish to hope for it?"

"Aniror did not find the thought of breakfast agreeable this morn," Faramir replied. He bowed his head and stared at the smooth stone floor. A crack appeared in one square and his ran his toe over it with a sigh. As children, they had pretended it was river and crossed battalions of toy soldiers over it.

But no longer could they pretend as children did, no longer could they hide behind lies.

Boromir turned from the window. Sunlight glanced upon his hair, turning dried grass to golden wheat. "Your wife finds little agreeable."

Faramir hated the way Boromir refused to call Aniror by her name. It was a new invention of his, meant to sever whatever ties he had to her. Perhaps Aniror's little sobriquet for him had reached his ears after all.

"She needs more time, brother," Faramir began but Boromir shook his head.

"Nearly a month it has been."

"Three weeks."

"She has had time enough."

"I do not think so," Faramir said. It was strange thing, he thought. In the space of but a few minutes he had gone from arguing with his wife to defending her. Why did he feel the need to protect her so? Surely, she was capable of caring for herself in every manner.

And yet, he liked to think she needed him. He liked to think of himself as her savior who had brought her forth from peril. But when the fair damsel would give him little favor, what should the gallant knight do?

His mistakes rose up before him now as shadowy ghosts, driven by her anger and his confusion.

Faramir looked to Boromir for guidance. His elder brother, his comrade. Certainly Boromir would have an answer. Certainly Boromir could right his wrong.

But as Faramir watched his brother lean upon the casement, doubt troubled him. Boromir had been against Aniror's coming to Gondor from the first. In Lorien, he had advised Faramir to leave her behind. And upon the road, he had suggested leaving her by the wayside.

Boromir could not help him.

Still, Faramir thought to speak of his grievances. A mute was better than one who spoke empty words.

"She does not look at me," he said at length. "Nor will she speak. I…I do not know what she wants. Aniror will not leave Gondor though she despises our fair city. What does she want?"

Faramir had not meant his words to take the shape of question. Boromir half-turned his head.

"She tried to kill one of her own kin, Faramir. I wonder what it is you expect."

"You speak as though she held the sword in her own hand," Faramir replied. Boromir's stiff bearing frustrated him.

"Your wife may as well." Boromir braced his hand on his hip. "She sent her kin to a place where Orcs were known to be. And because of it, the Golden Wood will not have her. Why should Gondor? Why should you?"

"I do not know."

Boromir's expression suddenly softened. Faramir felt himself hoping for a wise word. He could not bear this alone.

"I fear for you, brother," Boromir said. His eyes were sad. "And I weep for you."

Boromir reached forward and clutched Faramir's shoulder for an instant. Then he dropped his hand and moved back down the hall. Faramir stood by the casement for a moment. Grey clouds ringed the sun.

* * *

Lord Denethor was already at his table in the hall when Faramir entered. He paused by the door, straightened his tunic and tried to present himself with a smile. His father, however, frowned.

"Where is your wife?" Denethor asked

Faramir felt his smile fade. Boromir lowered himself into the chair by his father's right and reached for his goblet. Faramir noticed his raised eyebrows.

"Father." He bowed. "Good morn. I trust you are well."

Denethor exhaled sharply. "I am. Where is your wife? Where is the Elf?"

"She is…" Faramir searched hopelessly for an appeasing answer. He glanced at Boromir and found him staring at his plate. "She decided not to attend breakfast this day."

Denethor scoffed and turned back to the platter of fruit before him. Faramir slid into the chair next to him, his fingers finding a knife by his plate. He cut himself a slice of fresh bread despite his lack of hunger.

The table was terribly quiet for a moment. Faramir looked about. No one dined with them, no advisor or lord or favored officer. The emptiness of the hall unnerved him.

"So quiet it is," he said. His voice broke the silence and settled over the stone walls with an echo. "Will no one join us?"

Denethor gnawed at a strawberry and dropped the stem upon his plate. "I had hoped to induce your wife out of her hermitage. You said she finds the stares of others disagreeable."

"She does indeed," Faramir replied. Boromir raised himself in his chair, his fingers resting about the rim of his goblet. He glanced at Faramir, then lowered his eyes.

"Where is she then?" Denethor gestured about the empty hall.

"I am sorry, father." Faramir laid down his knife. "She is so very shy, Aniror. A few days longer perhaps and then she shall join us."

Denethor grunted. Boromir blessedly said nothing.

"It is enough that I have allowed her past the gates of this city. Not readily would I trust one of her kind, nor happily. Shrouded in mystery the Elves are and devious in their seclusion. I do not care for this Aniror's secrecy."

Denethor stared at his youngest son.

"My wife is not devious, father, I can assure you of that," Faramir said. "A shock I think it is for her to come from a place of trees to a place of stone."

"And the Elves of Lothlorien are not wicked," Boromir said at last. A smile curved Faramir's lips. He knew his brother would not stay silent on his behalf. "Near two weeks we spent in their realm and only kindness we found."

"And in two weeks you found yourself a wife." Denethor's glance would not remove from Faramir. Steel and ice vied in his eyes and hidden amongst frost there was concern, though Faramir did not perceive it.

"Yes, I do love Aniror." Faramir swallowed hard. The lie stuck in his throat. Love had little to do with this horrid situation. Mercy yes, but not love.

"Something dangerous veils your glance," Denethor said. "Something troubling. Do you weave a falsehood?"

"Father!" Boromir's voice sounded loud but boisterous. A tight smile pulled at his lips. "You interrogate poor Faramir as though he were an enemy. Fear not, I accompanied your son to Lorien and I have brought him back."

Faramir's shoulders sagged and he nodded at Boromir. His brother had lied for him and protected him. Relief and gratitude threatened to fill his eyes with tears.

"Of course." Denethor turned from Faramir at length. He reached for a pastry filled with jam. "But I do expect this Elf woman to come to me. Only once have I seen her and I should like to know what manner of creature dwells in my house before her husband departs."

"Departs?"

"To Ithilien." Denethor set the pastry down upon his plate and he stared at it, though Faramir knew his mind slipped away from the cold hall and ventured leagues away. "Are you not the Captain of Gondor's Rangers? Surely, you did not expect to wile your hours away in the Citadel. No! I would have you return to your duty."

Faramir said nothing. In truth, he did wish to return to Ithilien and his company. Long had he missed the soft chatter of his men, the crackle of a small camp fire and the freedom that was born from living amongst the trees.

But he did not wish to leave Aniror.

Of course, he would not miss her, quite the opposite. Faramir feared that she would create some terrible mischief in his absence and when he returned, lies would abound along with accusations. Aniror could not be trusted.

Faramir glanced up and across the table at his brother. Boromir lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. He could lend his younger sibling no support in this matter.

Denethor returned his glance to his younger son and Faramir shifted beneath it. He had no choice.

"Of course, Father. I depart according to your will."

Denethor appeared satisfied. He nodded and then turned his attention back to his breakfast. Conversation soon flowed over the table between him and Boromir, though Faramir held his tongue.

Aniror would have to obey him or at least respect his authority. Faramir shut his eyes. Either way, she would certainly not be pleased.

* * *

Faramir rose when he finished speaking and stood before the hearth in silence once more. Eowyn let him be. She unfolded her hands upon her lap and stretched. The night had grown old. Faramir had talked for quite some time.

At last, he turned to face her. The fire was dying and it cast a light glow across his face.

"Such was my first month of marriage to Aniror," he said with a smile.

Eowyn rose, her robe wrapped about her. "Not at all pleasant."

"No. It was rather dreadful."

"And yet you have a son."

"Yes."

"Then I expect to hear the tale of that," Eowyn said. She crossed the short distance that stood between them, reached her arm about his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Faramir's smile grew. "That is another tale, for another night. I have only just begun."

* * *

**Translations:**

Ada, buiach?: Dad, do you promise?

Abgerin hen…telithon: After I finish, I will come.

Oltho vae: Sweet dreams

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for reading! I am pretty sure my Sindarin is correct, but if any of you Tolkien experts should notice a mistake, please let me know right away. Please, take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. I would absolutely love to have something cheery to look forward to while I am sitting through my history midterm tomorrow. Chapter five will be posted on either Saturday or Sunday.


	6. Chapter Six Frosty Farewells

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter six of "The Price of Pity". I think Aniror reaches her height of psycho-ness in this chapter. (Poor Faramir!) I would like thank everyone who read and those that reviewed, **MerryKK**, **ElfLuver13**, **Awen1923**, **Sarahbarr17**, and **Lady-Anck-su-namun**. Thanks so much! I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Six Frosty Farewells**

For two days after he had first spoken of Aniror, Faramir let the matter fall silent. Eowyn did not press him despite her growing curiosity and the terrible need she felt to help him heal. Exercising the strictest patience, she waited and Faramir moved about the Citadel with calm serenity. Could he have already put Aniror from his mind?

But on the third day, Eowyn realized that the storm had only broken for time to rage anew once more. Miresgal threw a hearty tantrum that afternoon when his nurse refused his request to go outside and play. The weather had turned sour, with thick clouds stirring in the North, falling upon Minas Tirith sometime around noon. A cold wind spat rain at the windows and Miresgal's wails penetrated even the thick stone walls.

Against her better judgment, Eowyn went to see him. He did not quiet but fought both her and his nurse until Faramir returned in the evening. Eowyn was glad to see her husband take a stricter line with his son and the nurse was instructed to forego her nightly ritual of lullabies as a punishment.

Yet in the end, Faramir himself could not hold to his given law. He spent a good hour with the child, telling stories instead of spinning songs. Miresgal feel asleep easy. Eowyn returned to chamber flushed with annoyance.

She had meant to give her husband a good talking to when he came in, but as Faramir stepped over the threshold something changed in his eyes. Eowyn held her tongue.

"I remember it now," he said with a wistful smile. "Yes, I remember all of it."

"What is that, Faramir?" Eowyn asked. She had been standing by the window, watching the rain drip down from the sky.

"Aniror. And the evil she threatened me with when I told her that I was to depart for Ithilien."

"I should think she would be quite happy." Eowyn drew away from the window as her intrigue rose. "Tell me, what could she have possibly done?"

Faramir shook his head. "She was quite creative, poor Aniror. Quite creative indeed."

* * *

_July 3013 Third Age_

Faramir entered his chamber with a good deal more defiance than he had presented earlier that day. Aniror was not where he had left her. She had gone to the window and stood there now, her head pushed through the narrow opening in the wall. Her two long hands grasped the sill.

Faramir walked to the hearth, her abandoned book lying on the stones by the fire. Ash marred its pages and he stooped to retrieve it with a silent curse. He had lent her book with the hope that her mind would be eased or at least rendered not so vicious. But even a simple generous gesture could be polluted by her will.

Aniror took little notice of his entrance until Faramir dropped the book on her vacated chair with a soft thud. She turned her head slightly, her gaze falling over her shoulder and resting on him.

"Oh, you have returned."

There was something terribly careless in her statement. A verbal shrug that suggested his arrival affected her as little as the mild breeze stirring her hair. Faramir rested his hand on the back of the chair.

"We must speak."

"Breakfast is over," she said. Her eyes returned to the window and the moon that bloomed in the veil of black. "Or do you now wish me to attend supper? No, that is my answer. You have it. Do not trouble me with useless questions or…pleas."

"I do not come to beg," Faramir said and it took a large effort to keep his voice controlled. "I have no patience and no appetite for such a pastime."

"Excellent!" Aniror cried in mock joy. She stepped back from the casement for a moment, her arms braced before her. "I had rather tired of your whining. Of course, Men are a weaker race, but I expected _some _strength from you. Alas! I have been disappointed."

She paused and glanced at him. Faramir sensed the challenge in her gaze. Aniror wanted him to snap back with a haughty rebuttal. She wanted him to dance around her words and descend into another battle of matched insults. But he did something she did not expect, something that would catch her off guard and render her treacherous words useless.

He smiled.

Aniror's brows raced upwards. She looked at him for a moment longer before returning to her vigil by the window. Something faltered in her though and Faramir sensed her strength failing. Now was his opportunity.

"You are coming with me to breakfast tomorrow, Aniror."

"Ha!" She laughed, but he caught the tension in her tone. "More begging still? Oh come now. I think we have both had enough of that."

"No." Faramir stepped closer, halting only when he stood directly beside her. Aniror flinched as he placed his hand on her thin shoulder. "I do not beg. I have given you an order."

"An order?" Her nose wrinkled. "Very nice, Captain of Gondor. How very lordly! But you are not my captain. I come from Lorien and answer only to my kin. No order of yours will I obey."

Faramir pressed his fingers against the bared flesh by her collar bone. Her skin was cool. "And when you dwelled in Lorien, you took care to disregard every command given to you. Perhaps that is why the Lady Galadriel released you from her service. Hmm?"

Aniror rolled her shoulders. Faramir sensed it was a weak effort of hers to escape his grasp. She hated to be touched by him, a lowly Man, in her own words.

"I am going to Ithilien soon and you are going to breakfast tomorrow. You will present yourself as my wife and act as a lady of this court should. I will listen to no argument. Do you understand?"

He had expected her to rage and rant. He had expected her to take up the offensive and battle him until the very end. But he had not expected her peculiar reaction.

Aniror's eyes widened and she stood silent for a moment. Faramir waited, his breath catching in his throat, his hand still upon her shoulder. At length, she spoke.

"To Ithilien? I will go with you."

Faramir tightened his grip on her shoulder. What wicked mischief was this?

"Do you wish to leave Gondor?" he asked. "Do you wish to part ways with me and take to the road? No home awaits you in Lorien, mind that."

"Indeed." Aniror seemed to shiver and the starlight falling through the window made her look cold. "I…I do not wish to leave Gondor. Minas Tirith, yes. This place is nothing more than chilled stone. Take me with you to Ithilien. I was a warden amongst my kind, a soldier. Am I not fit to stand in that wood?"

Faramir did not know what to say. She had beaten him once more, thrown him off guard and ensnared him in some mind game. He turned away from her and walked to the bed. Upon the coverlet lay his nightshirt, freshly laundered and white. He removed his tunic and breeches, Aniror pretending not to watch him undress. At first, Faramir had been scrupulous in her presence and only changed out of her sight. But then he remembered that they had been lovers for a time and she was not shy in anyway. Why should he inconvenience himself?

Faramir slipped the nightshirt over his head. Aniror remained by the window though at last she turned and gazed at him with sharp eyes.

"You have not answered my question."

Faramir sighed and turned back the blankets. "What answer can I give? My father trusts you not and I blame him little for that. How should he think to trust you amongst his men?"

"He need not know that I have gone with you," she countered with her chin tilted up. "He sees me little enough."

"And what of my men?" Faramir asked. He threw himself into bed with a groan. "They will not trust an Elf, especially one who comes from Lothlorien, a land that has drifted into myth. I would not risk their upset, for they are all dear to me."

"Then your answer is no?" Aniror sauntered closer to the bed. Faramir glanced up at her.

"In short, yes."

She muttered something cruel under her breath and glared at him. "You would leave me here then?"

"Yes." Faramir pulled a blanket over his body and reached behind to fluff his pillow. "And you will attend breakfast while I am away. It is the smallest duty that is expected of you. Worry not, though. My father often dines in private and I am sure Boromir will not wish your company."

"Piglet that he is," Aniror grumbled and paced around the bed. Faramir watched her for a time. He began to drift soon, her footsteps muffled echoes in his tired mind. At last, she came and settled herself beside him, the bed dipping down as she yanked free some of his blankets to claim as her own.

"I have been thinking," she said and rolled over to face him. "Do you wish to hear my thoughts?"

"If it would be please you," he said with just a touch of sarcasm. He had done quite enough to make her happy in Gondor.

"I have been thinking of what I will do to you," she purred. Faramir shifted and glanced at her, eyebrows raised. Aniror's fingers lit on his chest, dancing along the soft fabric of his nightshirt. She smiled.

"I will make a wretch of you, dear Faramir, just as I am. Slowly, it shall start and continue on until you can no longer deny the decay of your life. Cold I will be always and offer you not a care. You shall despair and I shall ignore you. And I will make a mockery of you, so that all your men will whisper as you pass. 'There is the captain who has an Elf for a wife and a haughty wife is she. Everything she denies him, love, affection, pity…pleasure. How can he lead us if he cannot command his own wife? Sorrow is on him'."

Aniror paused and her smile widened. Her fingers touched his chin. "It shall be so. Sorrow will follow you and I shall not care. And at the end of it all you shall weep for your decision to come to me in Lorien. Yes, so it shall be."

But Faramir was untroubled. He rolled onto his side and held her gaze with a smile of his own. "You would not do such a thing, Aniror. My men would not believe your lies. For I am beloved by them and you have none to care for you."

The barb must have stung her greatly for she frowned at once and turned away. For a moment they lay in still silence. Faramir hoped that she would drift into the waking sleep that Elves practiced, but his luck ran short. Once more, she faced him.

"Why do you trust me so?"

Faramir shrugged, the sheets crumpling beneath his shoulders. "Because you would be foolish to do any harm to me."

Aniror propped her head up on her hand. "I could throttle you in your sleep, though, and none should no the difference. Yes, I certainly could."

She then turned her back to him. A flippant sigh escaped her lips. "Good night."

* * *

Faramir smiled and laughed to himself. Eowyn, however, was horrified. She sat down on the bed in shock.

"Were you not frightened of her?" she asked breathlessly.

"No, though she was imposing," Faramir replied. He came to sit by her side. "She stood tall, like most of her kind, an inch of two shorter than me. And she was a warrior, having many years of experience in battles I could never imagine."

Eowyn crossed her arms. "I should have put her out of the chamber after that. Untrustworthy beast that she was."

"That would have only worsened the situation," Faramir said. He laid his arm across her shoulders. "Aniror would have thrown a fit. I did, however, sleep with one eye open for quite sometime. Never did she make an attempt on my life though."

"I am glad for that," Eowyn replied. She kissed him on the chin. "Please, tell me more. Did she go to breakfast with you after that?"

"Yes," Faramir said. "Though rather reluctantly. She almost behaved until it came time for me to depart. I am afraid that then she, hmmm, slipped into old habits."

* * *

_Late August 3013 Third Age_

A strong wind blew from the West, hinting at the chill that autumn would bring. Faramir slung his quiver over his back as his horse was brought out into the stable yard. The dull clip of hooves echoed off the stones and the air was thick with the scent of fresh hay. Boromir patted him on the shoulder and handed him his sword.

"May good fortune stay with you, little brother," he said. The morning sun glinted off his hair. "Please, keep safe."

"I will," Faramir replied as he strapped his sword to his side. Several guards stood about and each offered him a doughty farewell. Fellow Rangers mounted their horses, drab looking in their woodland garb and cloaks.

They would leave for Ithilien and Faramir, despite his many misgivings, was happy. He missed the old wood, the forgotten paths and the fallen statues that once marked the reign of mightier Men than he. His duty was dangerous, yes, but more pleasant than his life with Aniror. In Ithilien death came swiftly, brought by an arrow or a blade piercing flesh. He would not suffer, he would not linger on to decay as his wife often suggested.

He would be free.

Faramir turned to take the reins of his chestnut mare but a voice called to him. His blood froze.

"Do you leave without a proper farewell, husband? Oh, I did not think you would do so."

Heads turned and all caught sight of Aniror strolling into the yard with a handmaid. She hated keeping servants though Faramir had convinced her that it was only proper for a Gondorian lady. His wife had finally agreed to a single handmaid but seldom called for her servant's attendance. She wanted to be alone.

Boromir cast a doubtful frown in his brother's direction and reluctantly made way for his sister-in-law. Aniror walked amongst the guards and Rangers, ignoring their stares with icy arrogance. They watched her silently, an Elf as pale as virgin snow and colder still. Faramir suddenly felt chilled to the bone.

Aniror drew closer to him and paused. She pretended to embrace him, but as her arms snaked around his shoulders, he heard her voice slither into his ear.

"Perhaps you will be killed. Ithilien holds many dangers, lying so near to the Land of Shadow."

Anger drove away the frost that had settled on Faramir. He found a suitable smile for those that watched, those that believed their marriage to a happy one.

"Then you should give me a kiss. If I die then my lips will turn to cold clay."

"Would that it were," she whispered but kissed him none-the-less. Her lips were frigid upon his and Faramir felt his breath stolen away. Oh how she seemed to hate him.

"Farewell, dear husband!" Aniror stepped back and cried aloud for all to hear. "You shall be in my thoughts day and night."

And then she left, her poor handmaid scurrying to keep up.

Boromir watched her go and shook his head.

"Perhaps she will be gone when you return," he muttered to Faramir. "Or so I hope."

* * *

Eowyn pulled her feet up onto the bed and hugged her knees to her chest. Faramir had just finished his tale and she did not know what to say.

"And thus was my departure from Minas Tirith," her husband said with a sigh. "I stayed in Ithilien for some time and learned many things there. But that I shall save that tale for another day, for that story is also long and…arduous to speak of."

Eowyn smiled sadly as he spoke. "You are brave, Faramir." And she leaned forward to kiss him. "It is no wonder that you hate that vicious Aniror. I find that I do now, having heard more of her. Let her pass into death with no one to sing a dirge, I say! Let her be forgotten."

But to her astonishment, Faramir shook his head. "Not yet. You have not heard the full of it. Save your judgment, Eowyn. There will be time enough for it later."

He then slipped into bed and she followed, her skin instantly warmed by the blankets and Faramir's arm about her.

"I have much more to tell," Faramir said just before he drifted to sleep. "So much more."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Now, I do not think Aniror actually wanted to _kill _Faramir or do him any harm in this chapter. I think her threats were a sort of knee-jerk reaction to Faramir's newfound authority over her.

Thanks so much for reading. Please take the time to review. I love all feedback as well as constructive criticism. If you think there is a way I can improve this story, let me know. Criticism only helps a writer improve and hone their skills.

The next chapter will be up on either Wednesday or Thursday. Have a great weekend everyone!


	7. Chapter Seven Freedom

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter seven of "The Price of Pity". I would like thank everyone who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **Sarahbarr17** and **Nari-chan SND**. Thank you all so much! I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Seven Freedom**

Faramir held out his hand and let the little mare sniff his palm. She lifted her ears, bobbing her delicate head once as if in approval. Rain fell against the roof of the stable and the other horses munched quietly on scraps of hay dusting the floors of their stalls. The air was warm and full and musty. Faramir leaned against the stall door.

"I would let you out for a run," he said. "But the grass is slick in the paddocks and the earth turned to mud. Surely, you would not like that?"

The mare turned her head to the side. Faramir ran his hand over her neck and scratched her brown coat.

"Is it true, I wonder?" he mumbled. Sparrows nesting in the rafters answered him with throaty songs. Faramir glanced overhead just in time to see one dart past. "Is it true?" he continued. The mare rolled one liquid eye to meet his gaze. "Did you carry your mistress to Imladris when so grievously wounded? Were you Aniror's only friend?"

The mare did not move for a moment but nickered lowly, her lips rippling.

"Yes then?" Faramir folded his arms. "You brought her to Gondor. Ah, how I remember. Did you wish to flee as she fancied? Did you wish to rush along the plains with the grass at your feet and the sun as your guide?"

The mare arched her neck. With one swish of her tail she batted away a fly.

"But you were brought here." Faramir's chest felt heavy, crushed beneath some immovable weight that forced his breath out in short streams. "Brought to place of stone and towers and…fences. I am sorry for that. I am sorry-

"An apology to a horse? That is gallant, my lord, but does the creature understand?"

Faramir looked up to see Damrod stride down the center aisle of the stable. The Ranger threw back his rain-dampened hood with a smile and a short bark of laughter.

"More than you would think," Faramir replied. He raised his right hand and gestured to the mare. "An Elf horse she is. My wife's."

"Lady Eowyn?" Damrod's brows shot upwards as he clasped his old Captain's arm in greeting. "I did not know those of Rohan kept elvish steeds."

"Not Eowyn." A small frown robbed Faramir of his smile. "I spoke of Aniror."

Damrod said nothing, but nodded and silence descended. Faramir watched as the man fished in his pocket for a piece of dried apple and supplied it to the eager mare. The horse nibbled the fruit, her muzzle cupped in Damrod's hands.

Faramir shut his eyes, willing the headache that hammered his skull to cease.

A week had past since he had first begun to tell Eowyn the tale and now he felt little motive to continue. Speaking of Aniror left him weary. Thinking of her left him bereft. Perhaps he should let her memories turn to dust, along with her body, buried somewhere in the fragrant grasses of Lothlorien.

But then Eowyn was so insistent and he owed her the truth.

"You come here alone, my lord?" Damrod said. His voice was low and soft, as if his tone could veil the true meaning of his question.

"Eowyn is due at any moment," Faramir replied. The mare, finished with her apple, moved back into the shadows of her stall. "We were to go for a ride, but…" He trailed off and glanced outside at the rain.

"A passing storm." Damrod shrugged and his dark hair touched his shoulders. "A good wind comes from the West. Perhaps it shall be blown over ere the day reaches noon."

Faramir shook his head. "Good fortune that would be."

"And fortune is a friend of yours."

"No. I think not."

Damrod slouched against the stall beside Faramir. Years in each other's company had somewhat softened the strict barrier between Captain and soldier.

"How do you fare?" Damrod said at length. Faramir raised his eyes back to the rafters and saw the sparrows huddled together.

"Well, though I fear I should be worse were it not for Eowyn."

"And your son?"

Faramir did not answer. Damrod's mouth twisted.

"Young ones. It takes time with young ones, Faramir."

"I have missed your counsel," Faramir replied. Thunder rumbled deep in the heavens and choked the wind with a roar.

"And I should never hesitate to share it, if you should seek it."

Faramir straightened and brushed the dust from his breeches. "Where do you go?"

"Home," Damrod said with a jerk of his chin. "Home to wife and child and hearth."

"Then why do you stay in the drafty stables with me?"

Damrod smiled. "I passed by and heard tell that you were within. Am I not welcome?"

The jest brought laughter to Faramir's lips, however forced. "Not when wife and child await you. Go and I will speak with you soon. A man should not long be kept from his happiness. Not these days."

"No." Damrod moved a step away. "And neither should you."

The Ranger trotted back down the aisle and into the rain. Faramir felt a sorrowful pang at his departure, but knew not to separate a man from his family.

The mare leaned against her stall and stretched her neck out to graze the top of his hair with her lips.

Faramir flattened his locks with one hand. "No hay have I, beggar."

Another bout of thunder made the air tremble and on the rising wind, Faramir heard Damrod singing as he walked through the stable yard.

But the sweet sound was soon carried away and the storm raged all the more.

* * *

_February 3014 Ithilien_

Damrod was singing and the sound echoed off the clammy walls of Henneth Annun. The men smiled as they moved about, packing loaves of white bread into satchels and filling leather flasks with fresh water. Dawn fell through the cave and dazzled the waterfall with gold. A thin mist hissed about the pool, nestled by the feet of the refuge. Faramir stood on the stone shelf overlooking the land. Ithilien greeted the sun.

The damp air flushed his cheeks and Faramir found a smile come easy to his lips. The day would be mild, with a keen wind blowing from the West. The thought of setting out for patrol in such pleasant weather enlivened him. While striding amongst the great trees and along the mossy lanes, he could truly be free…and forget.

Misery awaited him in Minas Tirith in the form of a sulking Elf. Six months away from Aniror was a blessing he did not wish to relinquish.

Often he wondered what mischief she might be causing in the Citadel. No doubt Boromir kept a close eye on her, but would such vigilance be enough?

Faramir leaned against the wet rock wall. Who could tell what awaited him when he returned home?

Damrod's singing wavered, matching itself with the voices of the Rangers. Faramir listened to the small talk of his men, if only to distract his racing mind.

"I spoke with her father," one man said. His tone was mumbled. Faramir strained his hearing, tilting his head back inside the cave entrance.

"Was his answer favorable?" a second asked hurriedly.

"I cannot tell," the first replied. "He said we might plight our troth, yet would not allow for the marriage until my time in Ithilien came to an end. He would rather I serve in the city."

Silence reigned for a moment before the second spoke once more.

"Is she fair?" The question was tender, not bawdy. Faramir heard naught but the highest respect in the man's tone.

"Dark hair she has," the first whispered. "But bright eyes. Crisp blue, like a day in winter that is not bleak. Ah, how I love…"

A nervous knot tightened in Faramir's chest. He turned and strode back into the cave.

Aniror had bright eyes, but they were cold and clear with ill intent. He did miss the feel of her gaze upon him. In a quieter recess of the refuge he found a small crate and sat, his cloak draping about him like the long branches of a willow.

Six months in Ithilien, while pleasant, had done little to solve his troubles.

He had received no news of Aniror's leave-taking and did not expect her to depart. His wife might not be wise in many ways, but she certainly was not foolish. Aniror knew full well that she would find little shelter in the world outside of Minas Tirith. One path had been opened to her, one that Faramir would have to travel with her.

A sudden hush fell over Henneth Annun and Faramir suddenly realized Damrod had stopped singing. The man ambled towards him and stopped a short distance away.

"All is ready, Captain. I have sent two scouts to search the old roads. With any fortune, we should receive word soon."

Faramir nodded. "Then come and sit for a while. I daresay we will be on our feet for the better part of the day."

Damrod obeyed and sat cross-legged by Faramir's right. He rested his chin on his folded knuckles, appearing deep in thought for a long while. Faramir almost wished to interrupt, hoping the sound of his friend's voice would break the thick stillness that entombed him.

But in the end it was Damrod who spoke first. He lifted his gaze to meet his Captain's and curiosity lightened his eyes.

"I wonder, Captain, what causes your suffering?"

"Suffering?" The word stuck in Faramir's throat and he coughed once. "I do not suffer, dear Damrod. Not in the least. See the flush in my cheeks? The smile upon my lips? I have not known a man to suffer in such a manner."

"And yet you have not spoken of your wife in all the time we have been in Ithilien."

Faramir sat up straight, flinching as though a switch had snatched skin from his back.

"I meant no offense," Damrod mumbled. "I only thought the matter strange. Faramir, you do not act like the man I know."

"I cannot believe that." Faramir tried to laugh but the sound died as it collided with the stone walls about them.

"You are proud by nature and rightfully so," Damrod continued. "Why do you not speak of your wife? I should think you would be eager and tell us of her, an Elf come from that shrouded realm of Lothlorien. Who thought that such a place would still exist?"

"Aniror is shy."

"Ah, so that is her name? I have never heard it mentioned before."

"I had reason not to."

"Then I am confounded."

"As am I." Faramir set the heels of his palms against his eyes. Damrod shifted, his boots scraping against his rocky seat.

"Faramir, what is it?"

Faramir took a deep breath and the soft morning air filled his lungs. "I forced her to come to Gondor with me."

Damrod said nothing, nor did he act surprised. Instead, he pulled his knees against his chest and frowned.

"Well, I did not force it upon her," Faramir said. Sweat chilled his palms. "She chose freely, but it was not a happy choice. How might one decide between the heat of fire and the cold of ice?"

"But if fire and ice might be brought together, then I would expect one to find some pleasant warmth," Damrod said.

"Ah, but she chose neither," Faramir replied. "And I saved her from a life of pitiful wandering, lost to the land that once loved her but now scorns her. I fear she is not happy, but miserable. My wife hates me and I…yes, I hate her. Wretch that she is."

"And I had hoped that you suffered only the pangs of worry that every novice groom does." Damrod shook his head. Deep lines folded his brow.

"No novice am I." Faramir wrapped his fingers about the edge of the crate. "Unfortunately, I am a veteran of this awful plight dubbed marriage. No bliss have I found. None! And she refuses to even cast me a care."

"Then woe to me," Damrod said. "A man who enjoys his marriage. Perhaps the snake is coiled and ready to strike?"

"I did not speak of your wife, friend," Faramir replied. "She is kind and most devoted."

"Then you should not wish evil upon even marriage," Damrod chided. "And I do not think it prudent to wish evil upon your wife. Her name is Aniror, yes? Well, I do not think you should judge this Aniror by what a few weeks time has shown you. You must have been moved in some way, to guide her from Lothlorien to Gondor and offer her a home."

"There was no love between us. Only foolish thoughts of mercy and gallantry. Boromir advised me against it. Would that I had listened to him!"

"Curse your past as you will. No change will be had. Do you wish my counsel, Captain, such as it is?"

Faramir glanced at his friend and saw the earnest expression that filled his eyes with care. "Yes, indeed."

"Very well." Damrod grunted and rose to his feet. With his hands perched upon his hips, he paced before Faramir, only pausing when a moment's time had passed.

"I do not suggest that you place my judgment before your own. No, that should be even more foolhardy. And I do not suggest that you take my counsel for a carefree solution. It is not and what I say may very well be a treacherous thing. I have no wish to ruin your life, or hers for that matter. So I beg of you, take care."

Faramir nodded somewhat hesitantly. What could cheerful Damrod think to propose that daunted him so?

His friend regarded him with soft sympathy. "You said this Elf does not love you and you do not carry a care for her?"

"Yes."

"Is there not some binding matter betwixt you and her? An oath? A vow to keep her safe and sheltered?"

"No."

"And she is miserable here with no hope of respite?"

"Yes."

Damrod sighed and closed his eyes. "Then I would counsel you, Faramir, to send her away."

"Back to Lothlorien?" Faramir stood. "I cannot. Her people will not have her."

"Not to Lorien," Damrod said and his eyes snapped open once more. "Let her go what way she will. Break the bond of husband and wife that so falsely exists. Do not force her from Gondor, no that should be cruel. Let her dwell in the city if she wishes _on her own_. You are not responsible for her happiness and should never have been made to feel so. Let her find her own."

"That is harsh." Faramir turned from Damrod, his words causing his mind to spin. But in the pit of his stomach, he felt the flutter of hope and joy. He could be done with Aniror. He could be done with her forever.

"I gave you my warning." Damrod seated himself upon the crate. "Do what you will with my counsel, but please, do not act rashly."

"I must think." Faramir's throat felt dry and he rasped as he spoke. "Allow me some time and come to me when the scouts return."

"Of course," Damrod said. He retreated to the front of the cave where the chatter of happier men still filled the air. Faramir sank to the floor, his legs folded beneath him.

Should he let Aniror go?

A sickening part of him still wished for her presence. He wanted to hold her, keep her locked away in Minas Tirith until he could discover what made her so horrid. Could he save her? Could he ease the old pain that throbbed beneath her flesh with every waking breath?

No. He never could.

Gentle sunbeams pierced the fog that drifted into Henneth Annun. Everything suddenly seemed clear and bright.

Damrod was right, Faramir thought. He could no longer keep Aniror with him.

* * *

"Ack! I am soaked through!" Eowyn's sweet voice brought Faramir's grim memories to a halt. He glanced up and saw her come racing down the aisle, streamers of her sopping hair flapping behind her.

"I am sorry." She stopped before him and kissed his cheek. "I thought it would let up enough for me to cross into the stable. For a good while I stood hiding beneath some eave, hoping for a respite. Alas, I must weather the storm."

Faramir took her into his arms with a smile. "I do not know what to say of our intended ride. Perhaps we were meant to wile away the hours in the stable?"

"Perhaps." But Eowyn did not seem to have heard him. Instead, she was leaning over his shoulder, her eyes fixed on the shadows of the stall.

Aniror's mare stretched her neck into the aisle.

"Who is this?" Eowyn asked. She slipped away from Faramir and stroked the creature's long muzzle.

Faramir cringed inwardly. Leave it to his wife to discover the one beast he wished to keep hidden. "A horse."

"I know _that_," Eowyn said, her voice ringing with mirth. "To whom does the mare belong? Surely, she is not yours."

"No." Faramir turned about and with one hand, braced himself against the stall door. "She was Aniror's."

He expected some sort of emotion on Eowyn's part, whether volatile or curious he could not tell. But she remained impassive, fingers tangled in the black mane.

"What do you intend to do with her?"

"Pardon?" Faramir raised a brow. Eowyn shrugged.

"I had heard once of a custom," she said. "The horses of dead warriors were set free to roam the Wild. I do not remember it being practiced so often on Rohan, but I am sure some did. Will you do the same?"

"I…"

"Well, you do not intend to ride her, do you?"

"No." Faramir shook his head. "She was not my mare, but Aniror's."

"Then why keep this poor creature here?" Eowyn stepped back and began to unbolt the door. Faramir suddenly felt the desperate need to stop her, but he stayed his hand and voice.

"Come." Eowyn slung a rope halter about the horse's head. "Let us set her free…together."

And so they took Aniror's old horse to the gates with the rain dancing down upon them. Not once did they speak and no words were needed as Eowyn removed the halter, letting the creature loose.

The mare hesitated for a moment, her eyes upon Faramir.

He reached, patted her head a final time and then stepped back. The horse took off across the Pelennor.

And as he watched the sprightly creature race away through the grasses, Faramir wished that he had done the same for Aniror when the time was right and let her go.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. The next chapter will be up on Sunday. 


	8. Chapter Eight Security

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter eight of "The Price of Pity". This is a bit of a slow chapter, though it is quite necessary to set up later events. There will be plenty of quarrels and angst after this one. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **Awen1923 **and **Sarahbarr17**. And a very special thank you goes out to **ElfLuver13 **and **Lady-Anck-su-namun **for reviewing twice. I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Eight Security**

Eowyn sat back on her heels and held out her hand with a repressed sigh. "Miresgal, please. Hand it to me, child. You must."

The boy peeked out at her from underneath his blue blanket. "No!"

"I shall not keep it," Eowyn said. She rolled forward onto her knees and crawled closer to his bed. With her fingertips, she dared to touch the fringe of his blanket. "I only need it for a short time."

Miresgal fisted his tiny hands in the delicate cloth. "No!"

Eowyn frowned. The child simply would not give up his blanket.

"Oh, it is no use, my lady," the nursemaid lamented from nearby. "I have tried for near an hour to wrest the ratty thing from his grasp."

Miresgal pulled the blanket off his head, his hair sticking out in all directions. Scrunching up his face, he stuck his tongue out at the nurse.

"Miresgal!"

Both Eowyn and the nurse wheeled about at the sound of Faramir's voice. He had entered the nursery silently and now stood in the center of the room, his arms crossed.

Miresgal buried himself under the blanket once more.

"What has gotten into him now?" Faramir asked and Eowyn almost flinched at the exasperation in his voice. Her husband looked tired and he tapped his foot in agitation upon the rug that stretched across the stone floor. Their recent discussions of Aniror had taken quite a toll upon him.

"It is nothing," Eowyn said. She stood and tucked her hair behind her ears. Bright light poured through the open casement. The day was surprisingly mild for late October and Eowyn pictured herself dashing through sun blanched fields upon the back of a swift horse.

But instead, she found herself stuck indoors, arguing with her infant stepson over his soiled blanket.

Tension made her shoulders stiff beneath her green gown. She forced herself to smile.

"It is nothing," Eowyn repeated, daring to hope that Faramir would believe her and leave the nursery.

The man shook his head, gently brushing past his wife to hover over his son.

"What trouble does he cause now?"

"His blanket needs washing, my lord," the nurse said. "But he will not let us have it."

"Again?" Faramir raised his head and stared at the arched ceiling.

"He has done this before?" Eowyn asked.

"Yes, many times." Faramir settled himself onto the bed beside the boy. Miresgal crawled into the far corner, his hands still wrapped about the blanket. "Aniror had to battle him for it every time. He holds it dear, perhaps…perhaps because she stitched it with her own hands."

Eowyn's mouth twitched and she stared at the blanket with new eyes. In the center, dulled by dirt and sunlight, was a carefully stitched star. The edges were rough and some of the thread torn. Aniror obviously had not possessed the steady hand and skill that was needed for the art of embroidery.

"Leave us." Faramir jerked his chin in the direction of the nurse. She curtsied and trotted from the room.

"Aniror did not much care for sewing," he said at length, his hands spread upon his knees. "But she learned, oh she did learn."

* * *

_March 3014 Minas Tirith_

Faramir walked his horse up the stone streets of his city. A late afternoon sun sailed overhead, warming his back despite the winter chill that still clung to the air. His horse snorted, pink nostrils flaring as delectable scents wafted about them. The women of Minas Tirith were baking their supper's bread and the warm smell spiced the wind, heightened by the earthy perfume of dried herbs.

He rolled his aching shoulders, his quiver rattling and clanging with two dozen arrows. The ride from Ithilien had been short, too short. And as he watched the last of the wood fade behind him, Faramir felt his heart sink into the churning pit of his stomach.

He did not wish to return to Minas Tirith. Not when Aniror awaited him.

"You look pale," Damrod said as his ever-fiery stallion pranced beside Faramir's dull beast.

"And I feel ill," Faramir replied, his voice muffled by the scarf wound about his chin.

"Nothing need be done tonight," Damrod suggested with a shrug. "No need to cause an uproar just yet. You might as well fetch a good night's sleep first. Troubles are not so dark under the morning sun."

But Faramir shook his head. They reached the entrance of the stable yard, dusty looking as the old sun painted it with soft light.

"I have decided," he said, flinging himself from the saddle. "Let it be done with. Aniror leaves tonight."

Damrod dismounted and leaned upon the grey flank of his horse. "Do not be rash."

Faramir found a smile for his friend as a stable boy led his horse away. "Never. Now off to your wife and child. I have business with my own family."

Damrod's mouth twisted with a worried frown. "Very well. Farewell, Captain." And he strolled away, his hands thrust inside his cloak to guard against the chill.

Faramir did not watch him go, but found the path that led to the Citadel, where smoke rose in droves as fires sought to warm the stone buildings.

Suddenly, he felt alone.

It would not be an easy thing, he decided. Sending Aniror on her way would certainly raise more than a few eyebrows and questions. He did not know if he could stand it. And what of Aniror? Would she rage against him or accept his decision with silent fury? Or would she weep?

He did not want to see her weep, even if it was for her own good.

She will be happier, Faramir tried to remind himself. Much happier than I could ever make her here.

But was he being cruel?

Faramir slowed his step and sat on a low wall. The touch of the cold rock made his flesh prickle. He did not want to face Aniror now.

"Faramir, oh dear Faramir! There you are!"

He had not expected to hear such a joyous cry. His head shot up at once, just in time to see his younger cousin Lothiriel hurrying towards him.

She was a lovely lady, full of grace and intelligence and keen understanding. One hand held up her blue skirts and the other stretched out towards him. Faramir stood and swept her into his arms. She laughed.

"My dear little cousin," he crooned. "What has brought you here? I had no word of your coming."

"Hmm, neither did I," she said as he set her back down. "Father must have tired of my presence and sent me forth. I think I vexed him most terribly."

Faramir stared at the woman and her dark eyes danced with mirth. Never had he known her to argue with Prince Imrahil, her father. In fact, he knew her to be the very apple of his eye, his darling child.

Lothiriel chuckled. "I jest! I jest! I came of my own accord. Father was against it, actually. But I managed to convince him."

"You always do." Faramir took her arm in his and proceeded to lead her back to the Citadel. "Why, though? Why leave the happy shores of Dol Amroth whilst the waves foam and break beneath winter's dying touch?"

"Ah, the poet lives," she said. "I was afraid that all this Ranger business would have scoured the softness out of you. But it seems my fears remain unfounded."

"For a time, anyway."

"I am vexed with _you_, though," Lothiriel continued. The wind lashed her hair across her face. "Most vexed."

Faramir halted. "Why is that?" he said. "What sordid crime could I have possibly committed while hidden away in Ithilien?"

Lothiriel lifted her chin. "You were married."

Faramir's stomach dropped.

"And to an Elf, no less. Did you not think to tell me? Oh, I do wish I could have been present at your wedding, if only to see you and that dear so happy."

His mind froze over and for a moment, Faramir found himself incapable of speech. Dear?

"Lothiriel…"

"Do not apologize." She waved her hand. "I can find it in my heart to forgive you. However, I do expect..."

"Dear?" Faramir burst out at last. Lothiriel stared at him.

"Pardon?"

"You spoke of my wife as a 'dear'," he mumbled. One hand massaged his throbbing temples.

"Yes, Aniror." Lothiriel nodded. "She is a dear, though very quiet. I suppose your absence weighs heavily upon her. But I think I managed to cheer her some. I have been teaching her to sew."

"To sew?"

"Of course. And I have also taken her to visit some of the good ladies of Minas Tirith. Aniror was quite shy, but they were kind to her, if not curious. I told her that it was expected for the wife of the Steward's son to make the acquaintance of those noble women and she did so. Faramir? Dear cousin, you look pale!"

"I am weary," Faramir managed to mumble. What treachery was this? What mischief had Aniror caused?

"Did…did she speak of anything?"

"I am unsure of your meaning," Lothiriel said and intelligent curiosity filled her eyes. "Aniror was quiet, as I have said. She mentioned a sister in Lothlorien and told me a little of that place. But she was quiet. Faramir, please, what troubles you?"

Faramir shut his eyes. Could Aniror possibly have held her tongue? Could she have said nothing? "Where is she?"

"In the garden that adjoins your chambers," Lothiriel answered at once. "I left her there, at least, sewing."

"Sewing!" Faramir sighed. He placed a quick kiss on his cousin's cheek. "Forgive me. I must go to my wife."

And before Lothiriel could respond, his dashed off into the Citadel.

It was true. Faramir stood in the small garden and shook his head. Aniror sat beneath a tall lilac bush…sewing.

She did not seem to notice him, or rather, did not wish to. One hand held the silver needle which rose and fell against the blue cloth. An embroidered star emerged, slowly, unsteadily. Aniror dropped the needle.

"I missed a stitch," she grumbled and tried to undo the mistake. "Curses! Oh…"

She raised one finger to her lips and sucked away the blood that bloomed where the needle had pierced her skin.

"Lopsided," Aniror said as she inspected her handiwork. A sudden frown stole over her features and for one terrifying moment, Faramir thought she might cry. "I cannot do this."

There was something horribly sad about the situation, Faramir decided. The Elf sat amongst potted flowers and bushes and stone. Her head was bowed, her eyes dull and she seemed weary, old.

It was not age as Faramir knew it, but more like the long descent of twilight. Shades fell upon her slowly, one by one, until her skin looked shadowed and blanched.

"Aniror," he called to her then. She stiffened and looked up.

"You have come back." He could not tell if her voice sounded disappointed or indifferent.

"So I have," Faramir replied and took a step closer.

"I thought you were set to return two weeks from now."

"I came early."

"Why?"

He stood over her now and she looked small, sitting crumpled upon the dead grass.

"That is quite lovely." He gestured at the cloth resting on her lap. "My cousin taught you well."

Aniror stared at him for a moment and her demure subservience fled. At once, her face hardened and fire leapt into her gaze.

"I am ill-equipped for such a task," she muttered. "I should rather bind wounds with a thread and needle then languish about in such a manner. And speaking of wounds, you seem to have none. A pity that is. I so hoped you would return with several limbs missing."

"I thought you wished me dead." He raised a brow. "Hmm, has your mind softened towards me?"

"No." Aniror stood and dropped her sewing. "I would rather you suffer than enjoy the quick release that death provides. Suffer as I do, lost to this _place_. I went to breakfast while you were absent. Does that cheer you, _husband_? Does it? Or does it cheer you to know that you have taken me from my homeland, from my very life?"

"You did that to yourself, Aniror," Faramir said. She glared at him for a moment, then fell to the grass.

"Would that you had taken me to Ithilien," she said and he thought he heard her voice tremble. "Would that I could have been beneath the trees and the stars."

Faramir's heart clenched. Once more, he thought of letting her go. Perhaps she would be happier if he set her upon the road, if he granted her freedom.

But a dangerous part of him wanted to keep her safe, wanted to save her from misery. Could he?

He sank to his knees beside her. Aniror did not move when he took her chin in his hand and turned her face to meet his.

"Aniror, I beg it of you. Let me help."

She pulled away from him and leaned against the old lilac bush.

"I wish to finish my sewing."

Faramir knew she would listen to him no longer. He rose and picked the brown grass off his breeches. Aniror lifted her sewing back onto her lap and continued on where she had left off. Faramir watched her for a moment and then turned his back on her, his feet carrying him into his chambers.

After he had washed and taken some supper, Faramir went in search of his brother. But as he paced the long corridor that led to his brother's apartments, Boromir came up behind him with a doughty smile and much laughter.

They embraced and greeted each other. Faramir allowed himself a brief respite from his troubles, enjoying the easy banter that passed between them. But Boromir would not allow for small talk alone.

When Faramir had finished relating all that had occurred in Ithilien, Boromir frowned and pulled him further into the shadows that lined the hall.

"I know you spoke with Aniror," he said at once. "I saw you, from a casement and I heard all that was said."

"Little enough was said," Faramir replied. Boromir's face hardened.

"Much was said, little brother. I heard every word that passed from that wretch's lips and I come to tell you that you should believe none of it."

"You suggest that I should not believe that she is miserable here?"

"Oh, I am sure she is miserable," Boromir chuckled darkly. "Most miserable. But she is also treacherous. This I know. During your absence, Aniror has been devising plans."

"Lothiriel said…"

"Lothiriel does not understand Aniror as I do. I have watched the Elf and listened to her speech. She is very good, that I will admit. Like a snake, she slithers about, swallowing what information she can stomach. Aniror will try to worm her way back into a position of power, such that she thought to enjoy in Lorien."

Faramir sagged against the wall. "How can you be sure?"

But Boromir parried his question with another. "Do you trust me, brother?"

"Of course."

"Then listen to no word she speaks. She is a danger to you."

Faramir nodded and gazed at his brother's face. Aniror was as shapeless as the mist that brewed in the hills, indefinable, untouchable. How could one find the right road when surrounded by grey?

* * *

Miresgal had fallen asleep by the time Faramir finished speaking. Glancing over his shoulder at his son, he freed the blanket and handed it to Eowyn. 

"As you might have guessed, I did not let Aniror go," he said.

Eowyn folded the blanket and tucked it beneath her arms. "Amongst such warnings, I would have."

"I perceived it to be the wrong time," he continued and stroked away a stray lock of hair that fell over Miresgal's face. "Perhaps it was the perfect time. But alas! I disregarded all reason and kept her here. Two weeks later I left for Ithilien, no less burdened by my troubles and guilt. And still the only thing I could offer Aniror was the security of a home, however wretched."

"Then perhaps it was enough." Eowyn touched her husband's shoulder and smiled softly. Faramir sighed once, glancing at the blanket.

"We had best hand that thing off to the nursemaid," he said. "Before he notices. For even Aniror the crafty could not tear it from him when awake."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I know, I know, a _very _slow chapter. But it was necessary to build up some Aniror/Boromir tension which more or less explodes in the next chapter.

Thanks so much for reading! Please review. I love all feedback. Chapter Nine will be up on either Thursday of Friday.


	9. Chapter Nine Storm

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter nine of "The Price of Pity". Now this chapter is somewhat different from the rest, as the flashback comes for a third party, a servant and her own knowledge of the situation is scattered. Therefore, you won't find out what exactly happened between Aniror and Boromir to cause such a quarrel. (I know, I am being such a cruel author here, sorry!) I would like to extend my most sincere thanks to everyone who read the last chapter those who reviewed, **Awen1923**, **Lady Anck-su-namun**, **Sarahbarr17**, **Nari-chan SND**, **ElfLuver13** and **MerryKK**. I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Nine Storm**

Eowyn slipped into her chamber sometime around noon, her hair wild and wind-blown and touched by the scent of grass. She had gone for a ride, enjoying the quiet moment of freedom that took her away from stony Minas Tirith and into the fields where the sun still shone. Autumn had fallen over Gondor of late and at night when the winds howled. Winter seemed not far away. Eowyn was accustomed to riding in all sorts of weather, though she preferred the crisp air of the fall, when the horses were alert and lifted their hooves high above the plains.

Clouds had tumbled through the skies that morning, long, wispy clouds that spoke of rain but shed not droplet. She was grateful for it, as much for herself as for Faramir. Having a quiet (and rare) afternoon that was not restricted by work, he had taken little Miresgal out. The child had boundless energy and would no doubt have galloped through the cities seven levels if Faramir did not stop him.

But perhaps a day spent amongst the sun and wind would calm the boy, or so she hoped. He was part of Elf-kind after all and seemed to love the beauties of nature.

Eowyn crossed the chamber and threw her riding gloves on the bed. Mud decorated the hem of her gown and left small smudges on her face. She sat in the chair by the hearth and stretched her booted feet out before her.

As shameful as it was, Eowyn found herself pleased with Miresgal's absence. The child's temperament had approved in small measures over the past two weeks, but not enough to convince her that he was altogether obedient. She wondered if he truly could sense his mother's death that hung over the household. Surely, he must be confused.

The door that led to her dressing room opened and a young handmaid slipped out.

"My lady, I thought I heard you come in," the woman smiled. Her drab grey sleeves were pushed up past her elbows and her arms shone with water.

Eowyn stretched. "I only just returned, Esgaleth. The wind was wild today and I enjoyed the dance of the clouds far too much."

"So I see, my lady," Esgaleth said. She came to stand by Eowyn's side, her eyes fixed on the stained gown. "I have drawn a bath for you, Lady Eowyn. It is hot now. Will you wash?"

"Ah yes." Eowyn leapt to her feet, glad that such a comfort had been provided. Esgaleth led her to dressing chamber and helped her disrobe. Eowyn sank into the tub, rinsing the grim and grease from her hair as Esgaleth brushed the dirt from her gown.

When she had finished, Eowyn leaned her head against the rim of the tub and watched the woman. The maid had been employed by Faramir's father, Denethor or so she had been told. Loyal, Faramir had called her. He seemed to have some knowledge of Esgaleth above that which was shared by master and servant.

A question came to Eowyn's mind. She raised her head and called to the maid.

"Esgaleth, did you know Aniror?"

The poor woman froze, her hands fisting in Eowyn's now clean gown.

"You must have," Eowyn said, plowing ahead despite the maid's obvious upset. "Tell me, please. I shall not be vexed. I only wish to know."

Esgaleth shook her head, her wide mouth opened silently. She sank onto a nearby stool and brushed back her black hair with one shaking hand.

"Oh, my lady," she said at last. "I did. I did know the Elf Aniror. I…I was her handmaid."

Eowyn sat up, the water streaming off her shoulders.

"Her handmaid?"

"Yes, my lady. It was not a pleasant task, begging the pardon of Lord Faramir and his poor son. I had little work to do while she lived, as she did not care for my presence. But yes, I did attend to her for six years."

"Then you must know everything!" Eowyn said. Her voice trembled with excitement. Esgaleth continued to shake her head. "Come now," Eowyn sank back into the tub and slapped the water with her hand. "Servants hear and see the most. I will not snitch on you, fear not. I only wish to learn of Aniror. Please, Esgaleth."

But Esgaleth paled and looked as though she were ill. "My lady, I do not know as much as you would-

"But you must know something. Tell me. I shan't be angry."

"Well." Esgaleth rose and folded Eowyn's gown, storing it away in a trunk. "There was one particular incident, one which occurred when Lord Faramir was away in Ithilien as he oft was. But oh, I cannot speak of it."

"Nonsense," Eowyn said. "I shall hear it all."

"It would upset Lord Faramir," Esgaleth replied. Her eyes were sad and frightened.

"Then he shall not know."

"Oh." Esgaleth sat back down on her stool. "Oh, well if you insist upon it, my lady."

"I do."

Esgaleth heaved a great sigh and stared at the floor. "Two years had passed since Lord Faramir brought the Elf to Gondor, I believe. And he was once more in Ithilien. Lord Boromir, however, was often in the city. And often he kept a sharp eye on Aniror."

* * *

_October 3015 Third Age_

Esgaleth swept the floor of the chamber, her broom moving in short, quick strokes. Dust rose and tickled her nose. Sharp rays of sunlight fell threw the window. Aniror lay upon the bed, lost to some ancient Elven reverie. Esgaleth sneaked a glance at the creature and her long hair that fell off the bed.

Aniror sighed and Esgaleth dropped her eyes once more. She hated when the Lord Faramir was gone to Ithilien, when she was forced to endure the somber, daily presence of her mistress. The Elf's company unnerved her.

Suddenly, Aniror sat up. She stretched and cast back her arms. Her mouth fell open, shaping a sigh.

"This will be the death of me."

Esgaleth could not tell if her mistress addressed her and spoke to some confident hidden in her own mind. She bit her lip and continued sweeping. With any fortune, the Elf would ignore her as usual.

"Did you not hear me?" the swift anger in Aniror's tone caused Esgaleth to stiffen. She clutched her broom, leaning on the long handle as her mistress hopped off the bed.

"Forgive me, lady." A curtsey was in order, if only to appease the raging wretch. Esgaleth bent her knees. Aniror seemed satisfied.

"I tire of the gardens," the Elf said. She paced across the chamber, her gown stirring the carefully piled dust. Esgaleth swallowed a sigh.

"Perhaps my lady would enjoy a walk in the city," she tried. Aniror wheeled about and glared at her as though the mere suggestion were a foul curse.

"And endure the stares of those petty, pitiful peasants?"

Esgaleth shook her head and searched in vain for another answer. But Aniror whipped away, lingering by the hearth. Some needlework had been laid on the chair and she inspected it with a frown,

"I think I am going mad."

A knock sounded on the door before Esgaleth could speak. She smiled in relief, ignoring Aniror's growing scowl.

"Shall I answer it, my lady?"

"Oh, very-

The door swung. Lord Boromir barreled into the chamber. Fury hardened his face and he stared at Aniror. Esgaleth thought she would wither under such a look.

Yet Aniror was a creature of stone, not ice and could not melt away beneath hate. Esgaleth withdrew herself to a corner, her broom fallen to the floor. Something in Boromir's stance terrified her.

It was a long moment before either of them spoke and Esgaleth found herself wishing for the silence to break. Instead, it rose over them, a great black wave that devoured the world and sucked the stars from the sky. She flattened herself against the wall, waiting for the roar and howl of the storm.

At last, Boromir spoke, his shoulders stiff and knotted with tension. "Aniror, what have you done?"

Aniror's eyebrows danced across her brow. "This is most unfair, dear brother-in-law. You rush into my chamber and catch me unawares whilst I wallow in my mischief." Her sarcasm blanketed the warm air and Boromir shivered with rage.

"Oh, I would have your coy tongue torn from your mouth!" he muttered. Esgaleth felt her heart jump. Never before had she heard him speak so.

"Such a threat." Aniror chuckled. She turned away from him and sauntered around her chair.

"I saw you yesterday morn, by the guardhouse." Boromir followed her, his boots slamming upon the stone floor.

"I was bored. Am I not allowed to hold conversation with the soldiers of Gondor?"

"Not when you weave your treacherous web."

"Piglet," Aniror said over her shoulder.

"Do you deny it?" Boromir clapped one large hand over the back of the chair. "Do you dare?"

"I have nothing to deny."

"False words you spoke and hidden truths you sought," Boromir said. Aniror halted but did not look at him.

"I have done nothing."

"And I have no reason to believe you."

Aniror scoffed. "Wretched man. Your paranoia is misguided. Leave me or apologize. For I have done little wrong, except waste away in this cold chamber while the sun falls and the moon rises."

Boromir appeared at a loss. For a moment, he shifted his weight and watched as Aniror perched by the window, her cheek pressed upon the sill. Esgaleth dared to step forward and grab her broom. The heat of the argument was spent. Boromir grunted, then abruptly took his leave.

The chamber door snapped shut, the old hinges rattling as the last of Boromir's rage was spent. Esgaleth resumed her sweeping.

Aniror turned from the window. "You as well, woman."

"Your pardon, my lady?" Esgaleth glanced up.

"I said leave. I want to be alone."

Esgaleth stifled her joy, falling into another curtsey before her feet took her out the door. Blessings were small these days, but not few.

* * *

Esgaleth hurried down the hall, her stomach grumbling louder with every step. Night had descended over the once blue sky and she had not eaten since daybreak. The gentle scent of baking bread wafted up from the kitchens, making her smile. A good meal awaited her.

The kitchen maids were always eager to hear tales of the Elf dwelling in the Citadel and Esgaleth found herself to be suddenly popular. After supper they would sit by the large hearth and whisper, the logs crackling as pots bubbled and boiled about them. She enjoyed the cheerful company that her evenings brought and the release from anxious sobriety that filled her days.

Around a corner she turned and the stone floor made her footsteps echo. The torches had been lit in the hall, though dim shadows still lurked elsewhere. And voices sounded, two of them, hushed and fervent. Esgaleth paid them little mind as she went along her way. Mutterings were best left unheard, she thought, lest some unworthy secret fall upon wrongful ears.

But the mention of a name caused her tiny feet to falter. She stopped, only for a moment and against her better judgment, listened.

"I was unduly harsh with Aniror," Lord Boromir said. By the sound of things, he was pacing, his boots tapping across the corridor. "Do I dare to apologize?"

"No!" the second voice was adamant and Esgaleth recognized the speaker as a guard who had longed served the Steward of Gondor. A wise man was he and kind, with much to say and little to hide. Esgaleth found herself leaning against the cold wall, her ears reaching for mumbled phrases and words.

"It would be foolhardy to apologize to such a creature, my lord. You perceived a wrong and tried to right it."

"But what if _I _was in the wrong? What if my mind ran amiss and I construed falsehoods out of innocence?"

"Have you ever known your brother's wife to be innocent?"

Boromir sighed and seemed to stop his pacing. "Never. Never once did a truthful word spring from her lips. Even in Lothlorien, the radiant Lady of Light could not contain her. Alas! My warnings fell on deaf ears. I thought I had freed poor Faramir from the thorny trap but he wandered back into it."

"Then perhaps you should court optimism, kindest lord," the guard said. "Assume that the Elf has changed. Two years have past. Could Lord Faramir's wife have resigned herself to goodness?"

"I put little faith and optimism in her mind," Boromir replied. Esgaleth twisted her hands together. Reason told her to return to the kitchens, along with her growling stomach. But curiosity bound her feet to the place. Scowling at her weakness, she dared to take a step further down the hall.

"But oh, I was angry," Lord Boromir groaned. "And I saw her standing there amongst loyal men, good men. Such a great love they bear for Faramir. And I could not but think that she spread mischief, that she worked in dark ways to turn them against him."

"Begging your most sincere pardon, my lord, but do you think she has made a cuckold out of your dear brother?"

"No, not at all. Despite her wretchedness, it is not the way of an Elf to stray and fold to the temptations of the flesh."

"Nor is it the way of an Elf to wed a Man."

"Her treachery is not quite so base," Boromir continued. "She is a clever little witch. She works in lies and accusations. She twists the thoughts of righteous men to believe strange things. I think she wishes for Faramir to lose the gret devotion of his men, just as she lost the devotion of her kin. Aniror aspired to Captain of the Elven guard in Lothlorien. Now she is naught but an exile, a murderer who would have stained her knife with blood had she been given the chance. She wishes to take from Faramir what she most desired."

A moment passed before either of the men spoke and Esgaleth thought they had moved away. But then, the wise old guard cleared his throat.

"My lord, how sure are you of such?"

"I have only speculation," Boromir lamented. "I saw her whispering to the guards yesterday morn and feared, oh I feared the worst. And when I spoke with her today she only refuted my claims. Perhaps I should not have been so rough with her. Faramir has borne the burden of these two years with tolerance. I find I can no longer stand such torment. Disrespectful she is and merciless. It is only a matter of short time before she falls into some wickedness. I will not have her sunder this fair city, or my poor brother."

More silence. Esgaleth stifled her breathing with her hand. A long minute dragged by and then another. Both guard and lord seemed to be mulling over their own thoughts. At length, however, the guard spoke again.

"You could go to your father, my lord."

Boromir scoffed but the guard continued on.

"He does not know of _how _the Elf came to Gondor. He does not know that she was exiled. He does not know that she attempted to harm one of her own kin."

"Faramir would never forgive me," Boromir said. His voice was soft, pained.

"It is for his own good, my lord. For Gondor's good. Surely he would understand such, in time."

"I would not cause him any great upset."

"Why should such cause upset? If he is freed from a treacherous marriage, then perhaps he will find happiness and love elsewhere. Think of how it is now for him, condemned to a life of sorrow with a horrid creature. Surely, your act would be one of mercy."

Their voices began to fade and Esgaleth suspected that they were walking away. Her legs trembled and she did not dare follow them. No, she had heard enough.

"Faramir would never forgive me," Boromir said one last time, before the darkness swallowed him and Esgaleth ran from the corridor.

* * *

Esgaleth crossed her arms over her middle and hunched over her seat. "There you have it, my lady. That is all I can tell."

Eowyn ran a wet hand over her brow, the water dripping from her forearm. Perhaps it was best that Faramir did not know of such.

"I know little more of the incident," the maid said. She stood and helped Eowyn out of the bath. "But soon afterwards more trouble brewed and poor Lord Faramir had quite a homecoming."

"Thank you, Esgaleth," Eowyn said as she was wrapped in a long piece of cloth to dry her body with. "You were quite brave to speak on the matter. I am most pleased."

The maid glanced at her new mistress and smiled sadly. "Now that I have spoken, my lady, I would much rather forget."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yes, I know I am being nearly as wicked as Aniror here by not telling you all the circumstances surrounding the argument. I apologize, but there is merit in some mystery, I think. To make up for it though, I will try to post chapter ten early, most likely on Monday or Tuesday.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading! Please review, feedback makes my day!


	10. Chapter Ten The Lie

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter ten of "The Price of Pity". I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **Sarahbarr17**, **ElfLuver13**, **Lady-Anck-su-namun **and **Awen1923**. Thank you all so much! I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Ten The Lie**

Esgaleth built up the fire in the hearth and left. Eowyn wrapped herself in a heavy robe and sat before the blaze. Slowly, her long hair began to dry, a flush touching her pale cheeks as warmth wrapped itself about the chamber. The logs cackled as the fire gnawed at them. One snapped and sparks danced against the blackened stone.

Eowyn let the silence swallow her and in the stillness, her mind leapt down a shadowed path. What could have so angered Boromir? Had the poor man simply collapsed beneath the strain that Aniror brought to his home?

No, she could not imagine the lordly Boromir falling to pieces like a milksop maid at the slightest provocation. Nor did she think he would threaten his sister-in-law with such harm over a trifle. Aniror must have committed some crime or whispered some insult. Hostility begat hostility.

Eowyn remembered one particular incident from her youth, when a haughty Rider of Rohan had mocked Eomer's skill with a sword. Her brother had been but a lad and Eowyn, several years his junior, had flown to his defense. Had Boromir done the same for Faramir when he perceived something ill afoot?

And yet the secret would hold. Both Boromir and Aniror were dead, Faramir having been gone to Ithilien when the quarrel had occurred. Even the handmaid, Esgaleth, seemed to know little of it. Eowyn would never know what had passed between Boromir and his sister by marriage or what peril had caused such sudden strife.

A wind murmured and darkness fell over the chamber. Eowyn glanced out the window in time to see large raindrops fall against the stone sill. Faramir and Miresgal would return soon.

And sure enough, she heard their voices in the hall before another moment had passed. In swung the chamber door and Faramir entered, his son perched high upon his shoulder like a yellow-plumed bird.

"Back so soon?" Faramir asked of Eowyn. Her heart leapt when she met his gaze, his eyes dancing with laughter.

"And I would ask the same of you." Eowyn rose from her chair and greeted the pair with a smile. Miresgal, to her great surprise, smiled like the little child he was. "Hello there, young lord," she said, raising her hand to tap his knee. "Did you enjoy your afternoon?"

Miresgal said nothing in reply, but glanced down at his father. "Ada, put me down. Put me down, Ada. Put me down." He squirmed and Faramir lowered him to the ground at once.

Miresgal trotted off to the window, hoisting himself up until his chin rested on the sill. And there he stood, quite content to watch the first of the storm sweep over Minas Tirith.

Eowyn frowned, unsure if she should feel offended or not. She decided to ignore his snub, pleased that he had not fallen into hysterics as usual.

"He spoke in the common tongue," she noted. Faramir nodded and moved over to the hearth, his hands outstretched to catch the heat of the fire.

"I have tried to accustom him to the common speech. Today, I spoke only in that tongue and he seems to have adapted well. It shall be an adjustment, not doubt. His mother and I spoke in Sindarin alone when in his presence."

"He will learn," Eowyn said. She settled herself back into the chair as her husband warmed himself. "Did the day go well?"

"Very. He loves the gardens and can be quite amicable when he likes. A bit haughty at times, especially when we spoke to several shopkeepers. That he shall have to be cured of." Faramir sat back on his heels. "We kept him rather secluded for most of his short life. Aniror wished to keep him close, such joy he brought her."

"It is strange," Eowyn said suddenly, unable to stop herself. "How did Aniror bear a child, Faramir? I have sensed little more than animosity betwixt you. Was it out of duty? To produce an heir, that is."

"No." Faramir glanced quickly at his son and then, as if assuring himself that Miresgal was well-occupied, looked at Eowyn. "It was no matter of duty or love. But perhaps, a matter of desperation."

"Desperation?" Eowyn asked. "Dear Faramir, I do not-

"I will tell you." Faramir rose and sat in his chair. "If you wish to hear, that is."

"Yes, yes of course," Eowyn said.

"There was much turmoil during the first two years of our union," Faramir began. "But often I was in Ithilien and things settled into a tolerable state, at the very least. I did not know, however, all that transpired in Minas Tirith while I was away. Boromir spoke little of Aniror and I asked few questions. A quarrel must have started, I am convinced, for when I returned to the city one eve, my father was in a dreadful rage."

* * *

_November 3015 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Faramir shut the chamber door behind him, shrugging out of his padded over-tunic. Stale sweat clogged his nostrils and he waited for Aniror's haughty remarks. He knew she would cover her nose with edge of her sleeve and stare, cursing all Men for ill-bred, stinking creatures. Faramir readied himself for the onslaught, but found the chamber surprisingly silent.

"Aniror!" he called and turned from the door. She did not sit in her chair by the hearth. "Aniror, I have returned. Yes, I have come early. But I will be gone again, soon enough. Do not fear."

Faramir trudged further into the room. Blisters rubbed against his boots. He sat upon the bed and tore them off his aching feet, falling back against the feather mattress with a sigh.

"Aniror!"

No one answered him. Faramir tilted his head to the side and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps she had gone for a walk in the gardens. Good. He might be able to sleep in peace.

Rolling onto his side, Faramir pulled the topmost blanket over himself and drifted off.

But he had not dozed long when a fist pounded on the door. He jolted and jumped and threw the cover off his shoulders.

"My Lord Faramir?" The guard's voice was low, muffled. Faramir shook his head once, fisting his fingers in his hair.

"Yes?"

"My lord, the Steward requests your presence in the hall at once. He wishes to discuss the matter of your wife."

The last words chased away the lingering touch of sleep that still lay upon Faramir. He leapt out of bed to the sound of his heart slamming in his chest.

It seemed that Aniror had worn out her welcome.

He had not anticipated this. No, he had not even thought to _fear _this. A nightmare opened before Faramir as he walked into the hall and saw his father seated in the Steward's chair. Boromir stood by his side, his eyes shut against some pain or worry that even now marred his handsome face. And Aniror, she sat before old Denethor on a small and sturdy bench.

She looked terrified.

Faramir stopped, bowed and tried to look his father in the eye. Anger met his gaze, pure and seething beneath the stern exterior Denethor managed to keep in place. Aniror glanced over her shoulder at her husband. Her lips quivered and for a moment, Faramir thought she would speak. But then she turned away once more, her hands clenched in two small fists upon her lap.

Faramir's legs felt watery, as when one is almost flung from the saddle only to regain balance a moment later. The sheer panic had passed but his limbs still trembled with the rush of terror. Fortunately, he was able to master his voice.

"Father?"

Denethor flinched at the title and sat up, his face wild.

"This is who you call wife, Faramir?" The Steward gestured at Aniror. "A murderer?"

Boromir muttered something and clapped his hand over his face.

"I am no murderer," Aniror said at once. "I have done no wrong! I have done no harm!" Her voice had risen to the pitch of hysteria and for some strange reason, Faramir wished to rush to her side and quiet her. But he stayed still, watching her tremble upon the bench.

"My son lies then?" Denethor's question was now directed at the Elf. "Does he lie to me?"

"Father, I do not understand-

"Silence, Faramir!" Denethor's hand shot up. "You will have enough to say in a moment, or so I would think."

"I am no murderer!" Aniror seemed unable to control herself.

"Hold your tongue," Denethor warned. One finger wagged in her direction. "Hold your tongue, Elf-witch or I shall cast you out upon the road at once."

Aniror obeyed him. She pressed her hands to the side of her face, shielding her tears or so Faramir suspected. Still, he did not go to comfort her.

"I have been most tolerant," Denethor said. He had lowered his voice and Faramir strained to catch every word. "In good conscience, I should not have allowed this Elf into the city. Never. Such a gesture was bestowed in good faith, upon your word, Faramir." The Steward stared at his youngest son. "You swore to her goodness."

Faramir swallowed away his fear. "And I still do."

"Then you are misguided or so your brother contends."

Boromir shook his head and lowered his gaze. "Father."

Denethor ignored him. "He told me much. How this Aniror committed a beastly crime in her own realm and how she was exiled. And how you, my lordly, gracious Faramir, pitied her. Your brought a murderer to Gondor and called her wife!"

"Father!" Boromir was shouting now and Aniror leapt to her feet.

"You betrayed me, horrid man! Curse you! May you suffer the basest of deaths far from the land you love."

"You confess your crime?" Denethor asked, but Boromir stepped in front of him.

"You spat in the face of charity, Elf! I can no longer sit idly by and watch my brother succumb to such misery."

Aniror's mouth hung open and for a moment, she appeared lost for words. "I have done no wrong!" she screamed at last. Boromir's face paled with rage and Denethor shot to his feet.

Faramir sensed the danger of the moment and rushed to Aniror's side, pushing her none too gently back onto the bench.

"Quiet!" he snapped. Aniror stared up at him, but said nothing. Faramir turned to face Boromir and Denethor.

"My lords," he said and bowed his head in respect. "I implore you both, be calm. I shall tell the truth of it and hide nothing."

Denethor lowered himself down into his chair and Boromir moved back to his place by the Steward's side. His older brother refused to meet his gaze, however, and a shiver climbed up Faramir's spine. Why had Boromir told their father of Aniror's misdeeds?

"Speak," Denethor prompted him. Faramir took a deep breath.

"There arose a quarrel betwixt Aniror and a rival whilst we were in Lothlorien. Boromir can attest to this." Here he paused and fixed a cutting stare on his elder sibling. "One morn, a company of Elves were to travel to the outskirts of the Wood, Aniror's rival being among them. Reports were misconstrued and the company walked into danger. Few were harmed and none quite so seriously. However, Aniror thought to leave Lothlorien after the incident and came with us."

It was a gentle version of the event, Faramir thought. Aniror had led her rival into danger intentionally and she had not decided to leave Lothlorien. The wondrous Lady of Light could no longer keep her within the realm. Aniror had been forced to leave.

Faramir kept his eyes on Boromir, hoping his brother would not contradict his tale. Boromir's gaze was of hardened steel, but he said nothing.

"I do not believe you," Denethor said. He braced his hands on the arms of his chair. "Boromir told me quite a different tale, one closer to the truth, I suspect. He spoke of bewitchment. He spoke of carrying you from Lothlorien when you refused to leave _that _Elf. And he spoke of murder, not carried through, but attempted."

"Father, do not act rashly," Faramir heard himself begin to beg. And why was he pleading for mercy on Aniror's behalf? Why should he even think to care?

"I cannot allow this." Denethor stood. "I cannot allow the son of a Steward to be wed to an exile and a dangerous exile at that. She must leave Gondor."

"Father, please!" Faramir looked wildly about for help. "Boromir, you must not let him do this."

"I am sorry, little brother," Boromir mumbled. Faramir stepped back in surprise. Would his brother not speak for him?

"Oh, you would not do that, my lord Steward." Aniror slowly rose to her feet, a terrifying little smile upon her lips. "You would not cast me from the city when I carry the child of your son."

Silence. Faramir's head whipped to the side and he stared at his wife. That was impossible…

Denethor lifted his hand to his brow. His eyes went wide with shock. "You lie."

"How should it be, I wonder." Aniror turned and began to walk from the hall. Her gown brushed across Faramir's boots and made him shiver. "How should it be when I return to the city with a child in my arms, a child with Elven eyes and the wheat-colored hair of your lost wife? I wonder what the people of Minas Tirith shall say then."

* * *

"But that was impossible!" Eowyn remarked. She rested her elbows on her knees and smiled at her husband.

"Yes, it was," Faramir said. He was leaning back in his chair. The rain drummed against the window and Miresgal was curled up on the bed, asleep.

"Aniror and I…well," Faramir paused. "I had not touched her during those first two years of our wedded life."

"Then it must have been quite a shock to hear such," Eowyn chuckled.

"More than you can imagine." Faramir tilted his head to the side with a thoughtful look. "She was lying, of course. She was terribly adept at lying."

"And what of Boromir?" Eowyn asked. "Did you speak with him? Did he ever offer an apology?"

"Not as you would think." Faramir's face saddened. "But the matter tortured him. Perhaps I was harsh with him when we did speak. Ah, he meant only to help me."

* * *

Faramir did not return to his chamber at once. He refused to confirm or deny Aniror's claim, but left the hall and moved about the corridor. Night had fallen thickly over Minas Tirith, clouds making the sky ruby. The faint groan of thunder sounded and lightening etched the corridor with strange shadows.

What was he to do now?

True to her nature, Aniror had caused trouble where there should have been none. And now his father expected him to present a child in a year's time when there was no child to be had.

A disaster. It was an utter disaster.

Faramir briefly contemplated refuting Aniror's declaration. Let his father force her away, let Denethor take the blame. The chance to escape unscathed from this quagmire tempted him. He could be done with it all.

And yet, would Aniror's sharp face haunt him for the rest of his years? Faramir could see her, huddled beneath some craggy shelf of rock as the wind shrieked and dark enemies closed tighter about her.

No, he could not allow…

"Faramir, you must forgive me." Boromir was hurrying towards him then and Faramir stopped, his hands entwined behind his back. Anger made his gut churn.

"Why?" he asked before Boromir had reached him.

His brother halted and his face fell. "I only wished to help you. Faramir, how could I stand by and watch your torment? Do you not see what she has done to this household? Do you not see what she has done to you? Cold and dark be the days when a Captain of Gondor falls in despair and the light dies in his eyes. I could not stand by and stay silent."

Boromir breathed heavily, his eyes wide and round.

"I am not lost to despair," Faramir said. It was battle to keep his voice steady. "And this business was none of yours. Now what I am to do?"

"Does she carry your child?" Boromir asked. Faramir did not reply but brushed past him. "Brother, please speak with me. See even now her ice touches you and freezes your heart. You have been turned against me!"

"I should think it was the opposite, brother," Faramir said. Dark laughter tripped past his lips.

"Answer me one question then, just one."

Faramir paused but did not turn. Boromir's desperation was palpable, a burning liquid that choked and threatened to drown him.

"Tell me," Boromir said at length. "Tell me, Faramir, do you love her?"

The question caught Faramir off guard. What answer could he give?

"We shall see," he said and walked away.

* * *

"Ada? Ada?" Faramir stopped speaking at once as Miresgal stirred and called to him. With a wry smile, he rose, went to the bed and sat.

"Did you rest well, little one?"

Eowyn could not help but smile as she watched Faramir pull his son onto his lap. With his fingers, he combed through the tangles in Miresgal's hair.

"A ruffian you are."

Miresgal frowned. "I am a lord!"

Eowyn laughed into the palm of her hand and Faramir smiled.

"A lord who needs a bath. Come, I will call the nurse."

"Ada," the child whined. He thumped his head against Faramir's chest and pouted.

"Such is parenthood," Faramir groaned as he hoisted Miresgal into his arms and carried him to the door.

"You bear it well," Eowyn remarked as the two passed by. Faramir sighed but did not reply. With one hand, he pulled open the door and stepped into the corridor. But when he was only halfway through the door, Eowyn thought she heard him whisper.

"Alas. I wish your mother had borne you a sibling. Ah, but never was it meant to be."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, Boromir and Faramir had a little spat, but I assure you, it won't last long. In fact, I would be more worried about what Faramir is going to do to Aniror.

Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. The next chapter will be up on Saturday.


	11. Chapter Eleven Comfort

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter eleven of "The Price of Pity". This, in my opinion, is one of the most important chapters of this story, as Aniror and Faramir reach some sort of understanding. As always, I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **blueoctober**, **Lady-Anck-su-namun **and **Awen1923**. Thank you all so much! I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Warning: **This chapter contains mild sexual situations, nothing at all graphic or explicit and certainly nothing that goes beyond the rating. If you would prefer, you can skip the last few paragraphs and not miss much.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Eleven Comfort**

Eowyn slid her hand down the pony's smooth leg and lifted the hoof. With one finger, she traced the marble-colored interior and probed for disease.

"Good?" Faramir asked. The seriousness in his voice was enough to make her laugh. Eowyn dropped the hoof, straightened and brushed the dirt from her palms.

"Perfect," she said with a smile. The stable hand that stood nearby, holding the pony's halter, swelled with pride.

"He is a lovely little creature," Eowyn continued. One hand ran along the animal's withers and nestled in the dark mane. "I think he will suit Miresgal."

Faramir seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. "I am glad for it. Boromir always said pretty is as pretty does and that horseflesh should not be judged by appearance alone." He slapped the pony's roan rump.

"And a wise man was he," Eowyn replied. "Are you certain a little Rohirrim blood did not gallop through his veins?"

"Not a drop."

"Then he was a fair judge of horses, none-the-less." Eowyn walked once around the pony. The little creature stood still and did not so much as flinch when she touched his underbelly. Her childhood pony had often snapped at any hand that dared to draw near his ticklish spot.

"A fine birthday present," she concluded with a firm nod.

A smile dawned upon Faramir's face and he in turn nodded at the stable hand. The pony was led away with a swish of his tail and the soft clip of hooves upon the packed dirt.

Eowyn seated herself on a bale of hay, her nostrils flared as she delighted in the scents of the stable. Horses nickered and nibbled at their afternoon grain. The sun hid behind small clouds only to burst forth every now and then, more brilliant than ever. She tossed back her head and let her hair mingle with the hay.

"Will you show him the pony now?"

"No." Faramir joined her on the bale, his long legs stretched out before him. "Tomorrow morning, I think. Then it will be his birthday."

"I think he will be most pleased," Eowyn said.

"He must learn how to ride, though," Faramir said. He scratched his ear. "Will you teach him?"

Eowyn's eyes widened and she said nothing for a long moment, thinking, hoping that she had misunderstood her husband.

"Eowyn?" He prodded her gently and she stirred.

"Faramir," she said at length and tried to gather her resolve. "Faramir, let us be blunt. Your little son, he greatly dislikes me, I fear."

"Do you dislike him?" Faramir was being diplomatic, his voice even and steady. Eowyn stuck a bit of hay between her teeth and chewed it over, unaware of how much she resembled a cow chewing over its cud.

"Not at all."

"You hesitated."

"I did."

"And?"

"And what?" She turned to look at him. "There is nothing more to be said. He dislikes me. Surely, you have noticed this."

"I have." He paused and seemed to consider. "Do you not think we can remedy this?"

"I suppose," Eowyn allowed. "He is young yet."

"And you are still a stranger to him. Miresgal is like his mother, wary of strangers."

"And so you wish me to teach him to ride." Eowyn sighed and plucked the hay from her lips.

"I will be with you both," Faramir said. "I will see that he behaves. Eowyn, we must try this."

"Why do I begin to suspect that this pony was but a plan devised to somehow _adjust _your son to me?"

Faramir laughed. "If I can achieve such, then I will consider it a fine birthday present indeed."

"Very well," Eowyn said and she slapped her thigh with her hand, abandoning her argument and settling for a bargain. "But now you owe me another story. I want to hear it. How did Aniror come to bear your child?"

Faramir stiffened. "That is no easy story to tell."

"But it is a story and I wish to hear it. Come along now, you left off last time at a most inconvenient place."

Faramir said nothing and looked uneasy. Now it was Eowyn's turn to prod.

"Come along then."

"Yes, yes." He shook his head, but with little annoyance. "I will tell it, but you must understand what a hardship it was. And you must understand how very foolish we were."

* * *

_November 3015 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Faramir threw open his chamber door and strode into the room. Aniror did not sit in her chair, but rather stood by the hearth, her right hand braced on the mantle.

"Horrid creature!" he shouted and was surprised when she jumped. "She-Elf! Can you not keep a still tongue in your head when told to?"

"Faramir." She shook her head and pulled away from the fireplace, her grey gown trailing behind her like a cobweb.

"What am I to do?" Faramir demanded. Aniror did not reply though her eyes went wide and round until he thought he should drown in their very depths. "What am I to do?"

She continued to shake her head, her hair whipping from side to side with a low whispering sound. He could contain his rage no longer.

Three strides brought him an inch from her. Faramir stretched out his arms and shook her shoulders. They seemed to struggle for a minute, her fingers snapping over his forearms and squeezing until he felt all the blood rush into his face.

He shook her harder and her back touched the wall. Suddenly, she began to scream.

"Faramir no! Faramir please!"

He did not know what troubled him more, the fact that he knew she was capable of wrestling him to the ground or the terrible desperation in her voice.

At once, Faramir released her and careened back into the bedpost. She crumpled to the floor and sobbed so wretchedly that he thought his heart would tear.

What had he done?

Faramir's hands trembled and soon his whole body convulsed. He fell upon the bed with tears spilling down his cheeks. Never before had he laid a hand on any woman, much less an Elf. Only wicked, heartless men committed such acts and he was not wicked. Heartless, perhaps, but not wicked.

Aniror sobbed quietly and mumbled in Sindarin. Bile rose up in Faramir's throat, burning and shriveling his insides as he floundered about, searching for some words of apology. After a moment, he forced himself upright upon the bed.

"Aniror, forgive me."

She looked up and scrubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her gown.

"I never meant to harm you."

"I know," she said thickly.

A terrible moment of silence passed. Faramir slid off the bed and stood. His heart turned over in his chest as he watched her huddled against the wall.

"Oh Aniror, please forgive me." Tears choked his voice.

"You did nothing wrong."

"Aniror I-

"Please do not apologize," she said. Her eyes were squeezed shut. "You are a good man, Faramir and you did no wrong."

He felt lost, helpless and so began to pace. She opened her eyes and followed him with her gaze. Faramir swallowed the bile that coated his throat and tried to gather his thoughts. What had driven him into such a rage?

And then he remembered, cringing as he walked, his gut curling and twisting about inside him.

"Aniror." He halted long enough to address her. "Aniror, why did you tell my father that you carry my child?"

Faramir expected a shrug of indifference from her or some half-hearted explanation. But to his shock, her eyes swam with tears and she hid her face from him.

"He would have cast me out upon the road. And I…I wish to stay with you."

Now he stopped his pacing altogether and stood dumbly in the center of the room.

"I do not understand." His tongue felt like a lump of clay and he choked. Aniror raked her hands through her hair as he had seen bereft women do in the highest state of mourning. As the women of the court had down the day his mother died….

"I wish to stay with you," she repeated. Her voice was muffled and he had to strain to hear her. "Your father wishes to send me away. I did not know what else I might do, what defense I might give. He had made up his mind before my feet touched the cold stone of that hall. Your father and brother wish to be done with me."

And her sobs renewed along with Faramir's guilt. How many times had he thought of abandoning her? How many times had he wished to be rid of her smothering, vengeful presence?

"Do you wish to leave?" Faramir asked of a sudden. Aniror's head shot up.

"No."

"And yet you hate me."

She chewed her lower lip. "No, no I do not."

"So it would seem. You have been cruel, Aniror, most cruel. And I can find no excuse for your wrongs."

Aniror hesitated for a moment. "Fear and grief."

"There are many that suffer so," Faramir said. He resumed his pacing. "And many who do no harm and yet have harm done to them. Still, they are not cruel."

"I do not excuse myself when the fault is mine."

Faramir stared at her. Aniror had never acknowledged her part in this sordid affair. She had pinned the blame on others, on him most especially. What could have caused this change? Or did she wish to deceive him once again?

"Think of how it should be," she said, seeming to read his thoughts. "Think of how it should be if no man trusted you. If every word that came from your lips was counted as a lie, a falsehood, a wicked whisper."

"You have given me cause to mistrust you," he said. Aniror nodded and slowly got to her feet.

"I am sorry for that."

Was this an apology?

"I do not seek to deceive you now." She settled herself on the bed. "Faramir, I wish us to have a child."

"Madness," he mumbled, unable to stop himself.

"Let me finish." Aniror raised her eyes and meet his gaze. "I have my reasons."

"I cannot see how you might find any reason in this," he said, but his voice was soft.

She sighed. "We do not love each other, but perhaps we might have something in common to love."

"And condemn a child to a wretched life?"

"Do you think I am so harsh as to be cruel to my own child?" Aniror looked indignant. Faramir shook his head by way of apology. "Elves yearn for parenthood, Faramir and the same is true for me. The years of childbearing and rearing are our happiest. I do not wish to be denied such joy. And I wish to have something of my own, something that is not wicked. I wish to have at least one being who loves me and whom I can love, without fear and without doubt. I…I wish to be happy here."

"And you think a child might lift the cloud of your sorrow?" Faramir asked. "Do not mock me, Aniror. I know you are not so naïve to believe such."

"Naïve?" she asked, but did not seem angry. "I am not naïve. Can you deny your own yearning for a child? A kind man you are and gentle. I know you must long for fatherhood as I wish for motherhood."

Faramir looked away from her. He found he could not deny the same yearning that she felt, to raise a child. Long had he envied those of his men who had children of their own and often he listened with hidden jealousy to Damrod's stories of warm smiles and laughter.

He wanted a child

"I cannot enter into such a decision lightly," Faramir said at length.

She came to stand by his side and rested her forehead upon his shoulder. Through the fabric of his tunic he could feel the heat of her skin, the warm blood that rushed through her veins. He stood still and let her lean upon him.

"I will understand if you refuse me. My sorrow shall be great, but I will understand."

"Let me think." He walked to the hearth only to find he could not stand still, nor could he think.

"I will leave," Aniror said. She gathered up her skirts in her hands. "My presence distracts you."

She had only walked halfway to the door when Faramir stopped her.

"Wait," he called. Aniror turned. "Please, stay with me now."

No smile touched her lips, though her eyes seemed to lighten. "I understand."

* * *

Eowyn shifted on the bale of hay. "Well." She poked her husband's arm. "Go on! Did you decide then to have a child?"

Faramir cleared his throat and a flush crept up from his neck onto his cheeks. "No, I waited a day, struggled a day you might say. But my father was furious and time pressed upon us. At last, I agreed. We had little difficulty in conception and soon I did indeed truthfully report Aniror's condition to my father."

"And how did she react? Was she pleased?"

"Pleased, ah what a crude term you use!" Faramir's face became blotched with crimson.

"Oh. I did not mean…I…" Eowyn stammered.

Faramir sighed but could not withhold a smile.

* * *

Aniror swept the blankets closer to her body. Faramir did the same and felt quite unnerved when he noticed her gaze still rested on him.

She said nothing for a long moment. Faramir tried to think of a delightful quip or something sweet to say. But in the end, his tongue failed him and he crushed his head against the pillow, hoping Aniror would fall asleep.

"I wonder how little Pelilas fares."

He glanced at her and was surprised to see tears coat her eyes. The mention of her nephew pained her.

"He must have grown," Aniror said. Her voice wavered. "Under the mellyrn trees, in fair Lorien. Oh…"

She broke off and a single tear coursed down her smooth cheek. Faramir felt pity stir in his heart. Leaning forward, he kissed her throat, the flesh rising beneath his lips as she swallowed.

"Do not torment yourself with such thoughts," he said. Aniror sniffed.

"You know nothing of torment."

"Perhaps." Faramir rolled on his side to face her. "And perhaps I do. You have no notion of me."

She chuckled grimly. "After two years of wedded life."

They were silent for a moment. Aniror shifted and her white shoulders slipped from underneath the blanket.

"Do you remember Ithilien?"

He hesitated a moment before answering and memories of summer nights and stars and precious joy entered his mind. "Yes, yes I do."

"I think I was happy then," Aniror said, "when we first met and knew each other only by our bodies. You had no knowledge of me, my name or history. And I think it was better that way, better for you to think of me fondly as a memory than to hate me now. Perhaps I should have been slain then, as I returned to Lorien. A single arrow through my heart. Then things might be better for both of us."

Faramir stared at his wife. Her eyes were clear and calm. "Do you wish for death?"

"No," she answered at once. "If I did, then I should have died a long time ago."

"Then I will take comfort in that," he said and wound his arm around her. Aniror did not pull away. Together, they slept until dawn.

* * *

"That was kind of you," Eowyn said as she twisted a lock of hair between her fingers.

Faramir raised a brow. "Am I not always kind?"

Eowyn offered him a lopsided smile. "I would not expect you to be so tender to one who harmed you greatly."

Faramir stood and Eowyn got to her feet as well.

"She did me little harm," Faramir said at length. "And perhaps even a little good."

"Oh?" Now it was Eowyn's turn to lift a brow. "What has brought this about?"

But Faramir seemed to ignore her question. "Come now," he said and picked the straw from her hair. "It is cold. Let us go inside."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, I think Aniror has definitely proved herself to be manic depressive or bipolar, considering her mood swings in this chapter. Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. I love all feedback. The next chapter will be up on Wednesday. 


	12. Chapter Twelve Birthday

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter twelve of "The Price of Pity". This chapter is a little bit lighter than usual, but it ends with sufficient angst. I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **Awen1923**, **Lady Anck-sun-namun**, **Sarahbarr17**, **MerryKK**, **CaptiveFaRaMiRheart**, **blueoctober**, and** ElfLuver13**. Thank you all! I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Twelve Birthday**

The next morning dawned clear, if not cool, with a strong wind rising in the North which promised rain later in the day. Eowyn followed Faramir and little Miresgal down to the stables, her hair swinging in a long braid that was batted about by each hearty gust. She felt daunted watching father and son trot along with smiles and much laughter.

_You do not belong_, the same cold voice breathed in her ear. The tickle of a chill danced down Eowyn's spine. A frown pulled at her lips.

"Eowyn?" Faramir glanced at her. Miresgal slowed his steps but did not look back.

"Perhaps I should go ahead," Eowyn said. She rubbed her arms briskly. "I might saddle the pony."

Too late did she realize the slip of her tongue. Miresgal spun around.

"Pony?"

Faramir stopped and looked down at his son. "The ears of an Elf!"

"I am sorry." Eowyn clapped her hands over her mouth. "Faramir, I did not mean to-

But he was laughing, his head back and his eyes heavenward.

"Pony?" Miresgal asked, now more insistently. He tugged at Faramir's hand.

"Yes, a pony for you," Faramir replied at last. He flicked a tear of mirth from his cheek. "Go along. Eowyn will take you to see your present. Mind yourself, though! I shall be watching."

"Faramir, I do not…" Eowyn began to protest but her husband had already slipped Miresgal's hand into her own. The child did not pull away, much to her surprise. Eowyn tried to smile, but her face froze as a nervous lump rose in her throat. Motherhood was certainly meant for those stronger than her.

"I will be watching," Faramir said. He jerked his head in the direction of the stables.

Eowyn said nothing, her muscles tensing. Dread climbed within her as she led her stepson into the dusty stable.

* * *

The morning did not drag by as Eowyn had expected. She found she could remember little of it when she finally sat herself on a stone fence and watched the groom lead Miresgal away with his pony.

It had gone well, very well.

She blinked and thought the pleasant memory would fade, shrinking before her only to reveal the grey vapor of a dream that had not existed. Miresgal had stunned her with his smiles and quiet obedience. With an eager ear, he listened to her careful instructions. Never did he argue or protest. And at the end of it all, when Faramir reminded him to show his thanks, the child had wrapped his small arms about her neck and given her a quick hug.

Eowyn realized that she was grinning. She sat back on the fence and let the sharp autumn sun warm her face. Faramir came out of the stable, stopped and stretched his arms skyward.

"Oh, the blessing of a peaceful day," he said and joined her on the fence.

"Did you not see his delight?" she said. "He was most pleased, as I predicted."

Faramir slung his arm across her shoulders.

"Thank you."

"Bah!" She tossed her head. "Reserve you gratitude for when it is most needed. Not now, certainly."

"Lady, I am overwhelmed." He smiled, his lips pulling back to reveal teeth like white marble.

"Keep your wits about you, my lord," she said. "I think you owe me at least another tale, a fitting one. Tell me, how was your son born? This is his birthday, is it not?"

"Begetting day," Faramir corrected and tapped Eowyn's nose with his long finger. "But we shall say birthday, for there is little difference when it comes to the Elves. Aniror carried Miresgal for a year, as do most Elven women."

"Ack!" Eowyn's mouth fell open. "How did she-

"It was a burden," Faramir said quickly. "She grew large with child and I think that troubled her. Swift she was and nimble. One used to darting between trees and clinging to branches like a hidden shade. Carrying the weight of our son slowed her quite a bit."

"She must have been harder to bear, then" Eowyn said. "I cannot imagine her manner being much improved."

"So you would think and so I thought. But she was softened and dare I say, tender? I did not stay long in Ithilien that year, for Elves need the presence of their spouse during the time of expectancy. It was strange. Often we would sit in the gardens and I would find her hand upon mine, or her head upon my shoulder. And often I wondered if…." He trailed off and Eowyn pressed closer.

"Tell me."

But Faramir only shook his head and a sad shadow drifter over his grey eyes. "You asked how Miresgal was born. Well, it happened in November and upon such a frigid night! Poor Boromir was out in the city, caught in the wind and early snow. And I, well, I was forced to be content with the solemn company my father provided."

* * *

_November 3016 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Faramir tried to avoid pacing. The habit was becoming an instinct, taking him to his feet whenever trouble brewed or worry gnawed at him. Instead he sat upon a long bench in the corridor and folded his fingers before him. Outside, a cruel wind was blowing.

His father did not speak and for that, he was glad. Silence was best at a time like this, silence that allowed him to listen to the muffled voices of the healers within his chamber. And Aniror, whenever she spoke or cried out.

Time seemed to have slowed since that morning, when Aniror first showed signs of discomfort. They had gone to the gardens for a walk despite the cold that fell over Minas Tirith along with a blanket of snow. Faramir had walked several paces ahead, as Aniror was distracted by the icicles hanging from a tree branch. With one hand she had reached out to touch them and then moaned.

The child would come, she had said. And Faramir wasted no time in hurrying his wife back inside, sending the servants to the Houses of Healing to fetch midwives. But as the day wore on, so did Aniror's pain. The child had not come.

Faramir sighed and shifted upon the bench. He had not expected to be this nervous.

Soon, his feet began to itch. He rose, walked to the window and threw back to the shutters. Snow drifted in and licked his cheeks. The cold air refreshed him and steeled him. Down in the city he saw tiny lights, blurred by the large flakes.

Denethor yawned suddenly. Faramir jumped.

"Peace, my son," the Steward said in a thick voice.

"Forgive me, Father," Faramir said and somewhat tersely. Denethor raised his ashen brows.

"I asked for no apology, only peace."

"I fear there shall be none known here tonight." And then he was pacing, wishing that Boromir was not abroad in the city but by his side.

"It was not so with your mother," Denethor said and this made Faramir stopped. The subject of his mother was a rare thing, a haunted and chilled thing that none discussed. Faramir shivered.

"She birthed you in but two hours time, yes, I remember it now. Elves must be different, long in life and," he paused as Aniror's cry tore through the corridor. "And long in agony."

Faramir clenched his fingers together, his joints feeling tense and shaky all at once.

"You worry after her?" His father stood and drew his robes about his shoulders.

"Of course," Faramir managed a strangled response. The chatter of the midwives had grown.

"That is a wonder for me."

"Why?" Faramir bit back. He felt angry of a sudden, furious at Denethor's calm.

The Steward shrugged. "You seemed little concerned with her welfare or so I perceived. Do not think me blind, Faramir! There is much I see and more I hear."

Faramir turned away and snapped the shutters closed. His father drew near.

"Tell me the truth of it, if you will. Tell me how this Elf came to Gondor."

"And what would you say to that?" Faramir said. He glanced over his shoulder with dark eyes. "Would you cast her out of Gondor now with the babe upon her breast?"

"Alas, such harshness from you I have never known." Denethor frowned and his face seemed old, worn. Deep lines cut across his forehead, ravines of worry carved by the passage of time and much trouble. "I would do no such thing, Faramir. Never. Unless you pronounce the child not to be yours and the Elf some enchantress that spun a web of woe."

Faramir sighed at the bitter irony. "The first is not so, the babe is mine. But the second, my lord, I cannot deny."

Denethor masked his shock well. His mouth twitched only slightly.

"Yet, it is not how you would think," Faramir continued. "I was willing, easy prey to her charms. And she is no witch, but misguided and so very hurt. She can do no harm here and I have accepted her as my wife."

"And why did you shield this from me?" Denethor asked at length.

"Because there is nothing for it now," Faramir replied. "I am resigned to such a fate and I expect to find some happiness in it."

"Your brother knew?" Denethor turned back to the bench and sat. Faramir waited a moment before responding, weighing and searching his father's words for anger. But in the end, he found none.

"Yes, he did. But you must blame him for little. His concern was for my welfare alone."

"Then she is indeed a murderer."

"No," Faramir said hastily. "No murderer is she, I swear it."

Denethor regarded him for a long minute and then dropped his gaze. A soft wail split the air and Faramir felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. That could not be Aniror's cry.

And then Denethor began to laugh. He stood and grasped his son's shoulder.

"Faramir! Faramir!" the Steward chuckled, giving Faramir a good shake. "Be not so frightened by that sound. It is a blessing! New life has come to greet the world."

Soon enough a midwife came into the hall, her face round and red and beaming.

"My lord Faramir," she said and a smile filled her eyes. "You have a son."

* * *

Eowyn sagged against her husband's arm, feeling somewhat as though had given birth herself.

"Oh," she mumbled. Tears formed in her eyes. "Oh, how wonderful it must have been."

"One of my happiest memories indeed," Faramir said. His voice sounded full and far away, drifting along with that pleasant moment as if it now unfolded before him. "I shall never forget it never."

"And your father, he was pleased?" Eowyn asked.

Faramir lifted his head and let the sun hit his eyes. "Yes, quite. Such a sad thing it is, that he had no chance to know his grandchild well. My heart weeps for it."

"No weeping now!" Eowyn said. She squeezed his arm. "Tell me the rest of it, please."

"Gladly," Faramir replied.

* * *

He crept into the chamber, his heart hammering out some warning in his breast that left him breathless. Faramir did not know what to expect and his mind whirled. With a shaking hand, he braced himself upon the wall. The midwife seemed to understand.

"Mother and child are well," she said and her thick arm slid around his wrist. "Most well, in fact. Do not fear, there is room now only for joy."

Faramir nodded somewhat dumbly. His face flushed in the bright light of the fire which one midwife tended, throwing on fresh logs every so often. A third woman stood by the bed, making low chirruping sounds. Her hands stroked and settled the coverlets.

"Come," the midwife at his arm said. She pushed him forward. "And do not look so ghastly! Have you not heard me? All is well." And with that she led him over to the bed, Faramir wondering a bit at her strength as her hands wrapped around his wrists.

The third midwife smiled and curtsied and left the bed. The other women seemed to follow her example, dropping out of the room one by one until Faramir realized he was completely alone, save for his wife and child.

Child? The word was foreign. For he could be no father, but a boy himself.

His lips were dry and he licked them nervously. Oh, that Boromir were by his side now. Then perhaps this might be weathered.

The figure on the bed was wrapped in blankets. She shifted, something clutched in her thin arms. Pale hair snaked across the pillow. Aniror cracked open one tired eye.

"I had not quite expected this." The lightness of her voice shocked Faramir. He took an involuntary step back.

Aniror rolled over so she could see him fully. Shadows framed her face and made her look old, worn. "Pain I am accustomed to. But this…ai it was quite different."

She laughed then. Faramir thought he legs would give way.

"But you look more the worse for it, my lord," Aniror said. "Has this night struck you mute?"

Faramir shook his head, though his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.

"But you must speak," Aniror continued. "He needs a name and the father must bestow it. Will you not look?"

And then she drew forth the bundle in her arms, unwrapping the swaddling enough so that he could see a face and two grey eyes.

His world spun and for a moment, he thought he should slide right off it into some black abyss. But then those eyes caught his and the tiny face seemed to regard him.

The face of his son.

Faramir began to weep. The tears came swiftly and soon his cheeks were damp. At once, he settled himself upon the edge of the bed.

"He is beautiful, Aniror," Faramir choked. And then she was sobbing as well, passing the bundle into his arms.

He cradled the infant, touching his chin to the soft fuzz of the baby's hair.

"Faramir," Aniror mumbled and placed her hand on his arm. "Faramir, are you not pleased?"

Faramir did not respond, but leaned forward and pressed his lips to Aniror's throat, as he had done that night a year ago. She lay back against the pillows.

"What name will you give him, my lord?"

"Miresgal," Faramir said, looking into the small eyes with a watery smile.

"Hidden jewel," Aniror said and she fell into sleep.

* * *

Eowyn dried her eyes but Faramir only laughed.

"Now I have made you weep," he said and tangled his fingers in her hair.

"A sorrowful thing it is," she replied. "For any mother to be lost to her child." She bowed her head and thought of her own mother.

But after a moment of silence, she sniffed once and managed a smile. "You said you wished for Boromir during such a time. Certainly, your earlier disagreement was healed?"

"Yes and all anger set aside," Faramir said. "Though my brother never trusted Aniror, he loved his little nephew. Ah, to think he too is now lost."

Faramir now scrubbed at his eyes, only regaining his composure when Miresgal bobbed through the yard, landing upon his father's lap.

Faramir pulled him up by his arms and settled his son down across his knees. "Have you seen to your pony, child?"

"Yes!" The boy nodded. "Can I sleep in the stable with him?"

"Gah! No, child. You are no wild beast." Faramir laughed and Eowyn joined in. Miresgal frowned.

"But then he might go away."

"Away?" Faramir held his son's chin in his hand. "What do you mean?"

Miresgal bit his lower lip. "Naneth went away. Back to the forest."

Faramir seemed to recoil, his hands dropping back down onto the stone fence. "Yes," he managed. Eowyn noticed his voice trembling. "Yes, she did."

"Then when can we go see her?"

Eowyn stiffened. Faramir's eyes were wet. "She went back to the forest, Miresgal, that is true. But we may not see her. Naneth is dead. Do you know what that means, little one?"

Miresgal scrunched up his face. "Elves do not die."

Faramir cleared his throat suddenly. "Some do. And when they do, we may not see them."

"But." Miresgal fiddled with the front of Faramir's tunic. "I will see her again."

"Some day, yes," Faramir said. He hoisted the child into his arms and Eowyn caught his gaze over Miresgal's shoulder. "So I hope."

* * *

**Author's Note: **A little fluff in this chapter, but there will plenty of angst in the next one. Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. Chapter Thirteen will be up on Sunday. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen Portents

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter thirteen of "The Price of Pity". This chapter pretty much took on a life of its own and ran away with me while I was writing it. In the end, it turned out to be double the length I had expected. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys it. I would like to thank all those who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **ElfLuver13**, **MerryKK**, **Lady Anck-su-namun**, **The Phoenician**, **acacia59601 **and **Awen1923**. Thanks a lot, you guys! Your feedback always makes my day. I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's work.

**Chapter Thirteen Portents**

Eowyn read the letter over once, then twice and then a third time, lifting the parchment to her nose to smell the wind-blown grasses of Rohan. Faramir smiled at his wife from where he stood at the wash basin, drying his face off with a piece of soft linen.

"Good news, I trust?" he asked. Eowyn looked up at last.

"No news, really," she said. "All is quiet. Eomer is planning a trip to Minas Tirith soon, perhaps in winter if the weather is fair enough. Otherwise, in spring." She frowned. "I hope he comes this winter."

"Spring is not so far off," Faramir said. He folded the linen and shook the droplets of water from his hair. "But perhaps we might go sooner, if time permits."

Eowyn made a dismissive noise through her teeth and set the letter down on the bed. "And bring Miresgal along with us?"

"Yes, I do not see why not." Faramir began to dress slowly, slipping his tunic over his head. "Unless your brother is opposed to children. I think Miresgal might grow fond of Rohan."

Eowyn sighed and reached for her comb, hissing as she hit a tangle in her hair. "We had best abandon this folly now," she said and could not conceal the disappointment from her voice. Receiving a letter from her brother this morn had cheered her, if only to pave the road for sharp pangs of homesickness.

Faramir stooped to lace up his boots. "Then perhaps your brother will come to Gondor first. From what I have perceived, his word is stone and not given lightly."

"Yes. But he may become distracted. Eomer is not one to stray from a promise, but I fear he might forget."

And to Eowyn's great surprise, Faramir laughed aloud. She jumped and stared at him with more than a little indignity. "Faramir!"

"Oh, if only I might have said such about Boromir," he said and quickly stifled his chuckles behind his sleeve. "My brother had a memory stronger than any. Nothing escaped him, promises, duties, quarrels."

Faramir paused for a moment and the cloudy light of an autumn morning spilled across his brow. "There were times when I almost hoped he would forget, for his sake if not mine. It would have done a little good, I think."

Eowyn laid her brush upon her lap, no longer able to fight curiosity. "How?"

Faramir straightened. "If he had forgotten his quarrel with Aniror, then he might have learned something valuable when in great need. The wisdom of an Elf, no matter how wretched, is worth more than I can say."

"And why should brother seek such wisdom?" Eowyn asked. Faramir ran his hand over his eyes and breathed deeply.

"It was less than two years since Miresgal's birth," Faramir said at length. "Boromir and I had gone to Osgiliath in June. It was then that he had a dream that had long since followed me. And after a successful defense of the lost city, we returned to Minas Tirith. Aniror overheard our talk that night and I think she meant to decipher the dream for us. But my brother, oh my stubborn brother, he would have none of it."

* * *

_June 3018 Third Age, Minas Tirith_

Boromir rolled the silver goblet between his hands, his head bowed as the firelight flickered and glanced in his eyes. He did not speak at once, but studied the thin patterns the shadows made on the stone floor. Slowly, they crept, slinking along the ground and climbing the walls.

Faramir raised himself up slightly in his chair and cleared his throat. "I do hope you have something to say," he said and tried valiantly to lighten his voice.

They should have been happy, his brother and him, after such a victory at Osgiliath. And yet, a dark pall settled over their triumph, foul and fell and chilling. Only the warm glow of the fire seemed to restore normalcy and the goblets of wine dangling in their hands and the soft moon that smiled upon Minas Tirith.

Faramir touched his lips to his goblet and drank. The sharp and pungent libation slid down his throat.

"I thought perhaps you would begin," Boromir said at length. "After all, it is fitting."

"How so?"

Boromir stared at him, clearly not in any mood to dance around the matter. "You dreamt it first."

"That I did." Faramir lowered his goblet and set it on the small table next to him, were red droplets made a moist ring on the wood.

"And more than once," Boromir continued. "Whereas I had but a brief glimpse, as though a veil were lifted before my eyes and then quickly dropt back into place."

"You think that I might know more than you?"

The left side of Boromir's mouth twitched and he grinned crookedly. "Yes, now speak! I am surprised the wine has not loosened your tongue yet."

"It came to me in a darkened sleep," Faramir began and suddenly his throat felt dry. He reached for the goblet, took another sip of wine and choked. "As you can see," he said, wiping his mouth. "The matter is most troubling to me."

Boromir waved his hand. "We have known much crueler things. Continue."

"The eastern sky seemed to fall to shadow, a thick shadow that gnawed and ate away at all that once was light. At first I thought a storm might come, for thunder spoke and rumbled where the sky once was. But to the West I turned, only to see the last light before me and voice calling that seemed faint.

_Seek for the Sword that was broken_

_In Imladris it dwells;_

_There shall be counsels taken_

_Stronger than Morgul-spells._

_There shall be shown a token_

_That Doom is near at hand,_

_For Isildur's Bane shall waken,_

"And the Halfling forth shall stand," Boromir finished.

"Then it is much the same," Faramir said. "Strange as it is."

Boromir leaned back in his chair, his shoulders slumped beneath a black tunic that made his pallid face look harsh. "Imladris," he said simply, as the name was well-known to both the brothers.

"Rivendell." Faramir frowned into his wine. "That is where _he _came from."

"And _her_."

Faramir shivered despite the warmth kindled by summer. "Black days they were. I do not wish to revisit them, nor think of the blood that was spilled…unjustly."

"Nor would…" Boromir paused as a low knock sounded at the door. He glanced at Faramir, who nodded. "Enter!"

There seemed to be a moment of hesitation, the visitor opening the door only a crack. At last, Aniror stepped inside the chamber.

Boromir wrinkled his nose as she passed into the firelight and laid her hand on the back of Faramir's chair. "Speaking of the very villain," he muttered.

"I have put Miresgal down to sleep," Aniror said softly. "Will you come and bid him good night?"

"Of course." Faramir reached up and patted her hand. "I need but a moment longer."

"Why the delay?" she asked. Faramir sensed no harshness in her tone, only curiosity. Boromir, however, was quick to bite back.

"I do not see what business it is of yours," he said. His neck arched in annoyance.

Aniror regarded him with cool eyes, like a spring lately thawed from the winter's frost. "None, I suppose, though I do not know why Imladris should be so spoken of. That name has no place in this house."

"You overheard us?" Boromir sat forward and his chair wobbled. "Did you listen at the door?"

"No," Aniror replied with a flick of her hand. "I had no need. Your voice carries enough."

Boromir's glanced furiously at Faramir. "You see this mischief now. Not a word may be spoken without her knowing. This Elf deals in secrets alone!"

Faramir was trapped, feeling the heat of his brother's stare upon his face and Aniror's chill touching his back. At length, he glanced up at his wife. "Aniror, your ears were not intended for our conversation."

"Indeed!" Boromir fumed.

"Then I apologize," Aniror said. Boromir's lips parted slightly and Faramir twisted further around in his chair, shocked.

"But I beg you, both of you, to take counsel with me. No seeress am I and I do not possess the gift of foresight or perhaps even the mind to undo such a riddle. Yet, I am acquainted with several of the matters you spoke of. Islidur's Bane," she paused and shuddered. "That is grave indeed."

"What knowledge have you?" Faramir asked at once. But Boromir stood, his goblet clenched in his hand until his knuckles were snowy white.

"I will take no counsel with you," he said. "And so I would advise you, brother. I know your ways, Aniror and I know that you would misconstrue the truth for some dark purpose of your own."

"Why should I?" Aniror asked and her voice was high with disbelief. "This matter holds little importance for me. This riddle is not mine."

"Then taint it not." Boromir exhaled sharply. "Faramir, do as you please. I will heed no word she says."

Faramir looked between his brother and wife once more. At last, he fixed his eyes on Aniror and mustered an apologetic smile. "Go, retire. Do not wait from me. I shall come soon and see Miresgal first."

"Very well," she said and Faramir saw her stiffen. "I bid you good night." She gazed a moment longer on Boromir before heading to the door and closing it behind her. Boromir waited until she had gone and then settled himself back in his chair.

"Forgive me," he said. "But I cannot trust her."

Faramir said nothing and drained the last of his wine. He could not mend the relationship between his brother and wife, not when he alone just managed to keep his head above water where Aniror was concerned.

"Tomorrow," Boromir said at length. "I shall go to father and tell him of this matter. Will you come with me?"

* * *

"Did you go?" Eowyn asked as she slipped into her green day gown.

"Yes, the following morning," Faramir replied. He closed the small silver buttons on the front of his tunic.

"I do not quite understand." Eowyn reached for a gold pin and swept up her hair. "What was the trouble with Rivendell? Why should such a place of beauty evoke such dread on your part?" She watched as her husband adjusted his clothing and a curious expression crossed his sleep-worn features.

"I have never been to Rivendell," he said at length. "Only Lothlorien. It was with Rivendell that Aniror had her quarrel, or an Elf from Rivendell, I should say. His name was - is – Erthor and he is one of Lord Elrond's captains."

Eowyn perched her hands on her hips. "Did she seek his command as she sought the captaincy of Lothlorien?"

"Oh no." Faramir shook his head. "She loved Erthor, having spent a summer in Rivendell by order of the Lady of Light. It was a perilous situation, one which caused Aniror great harm. I shan't detail it now, but only say that Erthor was a noble and kind Elf, though he did not love Aniror. Greatly angered was she by his refusal, which later led to my involvement, rather unwittingly, in her plot."

He paused for a moment, placing his hands on the small of his back and stretching. "As it happened, Boromir and I were in Lothlorien when Erthor arrived with his company…and his intended wife. Aniror was furious and she led the Elf woman into great danger, Fortunately, no egregious harm befell her And so Aniror left Lothlorien, or was forced to, as it was."

"Such a web of betrayal and anger," Eowyn said and she sank down onto the side of the bed.

"Woven by Aniror alone," Faramir said. "Though I will say that she did better herself. After the birth of Miresgal, you may have sensed how greatly calmed she was and less volatile. I even enjoyed her tender affection and care on selected occasions." He paused and flushed slightly. "Though she bore me no other child, despite what I am convinced may have been her efforts."

"Did it trouble you?" Eowyn asked. "To be regarded so, I mean."

Faramir chuckled. "I have never thought of it. I suppose I was simply happy that she no longer caused chaos and seemed to bear some liking for me, however external it was."

"You are a skeptic, I think," Eowyn said. "You cannot be sure that she did not love you."

"Oh but I am." And now Faramir's mirth faded. "She assured me of such the very next day, after I had spoken with my father."

Eowyn raised a brow. The corners of Faramir's mouth turned down.

"I asked many questions that day and no answer soothed me. Perhaps I should have held my tongue.

* * *

_June 3018 Third Age Minas Tirith_

"Imladris?" Lord Denethor regarded both of his sons with hooded eyes. "Of old it was the name of the dwelling of Lord Elrond, Half-Elven. In some northern dale it lies, though lost it may be now or hidden beyond any man's hope of finding."

"But it is not so," Faramir said and Boromir nodded by his elbow. Together they stood in their father's apartments and the great windows had been thrown open to catch some wished for breeze. Doves ducked in and out along the balcony. Some took wing high above the city. The air shimmered, hot and moist and promising a heavy storm later in the day.

Lord Denethor wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. "And how does my young son know of such a place?"

"You forgot, father, of our visit to Lothlorien," Boromir said. "Though how one could forget such a time, I do not know," he finished, mumbling heatedly.

Faramir glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. Boromir still had not forgiven Aniror for her intrusion the night before.

"As it was, my lord, Lothlorien played host to a company of Imladris Elves upon the week of our departure," Faramir said. "They spoke much of their home and welcomed any son of Gondor who might travel to that distant refuge."

"Elves, you say?" Denethor looked thoughtful and rubbed his chin with the handkerchief. With his left hand, he beckoned to a sweating servant who stood in the corner, weighed down by the velvet of his livery. "Send for Lady Aniror."

"Father!" Faramir took an involuntary step forward and Boromir began muttering to himself.

"Can she not apply her Elven mind to this riddle?" Denethor asked. "Wise is the counsel of an Elf, so I have heard. And she may have some acquaintance with the Imladris Elves. Has she ever spoken on such a thing?"

"Never!" Boromir said at once. "And it should not be asked."

"I do not see why," Denethor said and his eyes grew hard, piercing. "Unless yet another matter has been hidden from me, locked away behind a lie meant to beguile. If so, I shall soon see through it."

"No lie have we told," Faramir assured him. "And I welcome the advice of my wife…if she shall give it."

Denethor huffed and called for a glass of cool wine. Several long minutes past before Aniror was brought to them and once more, she hesitated by the door, looking much like a fox harassed by hounds. Warily, she stepped into the room and curtsied to Denethor.

"My lord Steward has called for me," she said in a low voice. Faramir knew she feared his father's temper. Often she anticipated the day when he would make good on his earlier threat of exile. But the notion had long since past from old Denethor's mind and he thought of Aniror little more than a face that occasionally appeared at breakfast, or was spied walking in the gardens with her child.

"There is a question I would put to you," Denethor said and he sipped his berry-red wine. He explained the dream shared by both Faramir and Boromir to her. Aniror, for her part, acted quite unacquainted with the affair and listened intently.

"So you see now," Denethor said after he had finished, "the name 'Imladris' has been heralded. What do you make of this? And what do you know of such a place?"

Aniror's face blanched. She swallowed, glanced at the stone floor and then forced her gaze back to Denethor. "Imladris, my lord? There dwells Lord Elrond and his household, a refuge for my kind against the world that forever changes about us."

She paused and Faramir wondered if she would say anymore. Deep in her glance he saw the stirring of pain and of harsh memories. He offered his wife a sympathetic smile.

"Yes, such is known to me," Denethor replied, a little more impatiently now. "Have you no other knowledge of such a place?"

Aniror seemed to cringe and she blinked. "I have been to Imladris, my lord, though there is little more to say. The counsel of an Elf is not lightly given, nor freely. I would not wish to advise you wrongly."

"I have asked for no advice, only knowledge," Denethor said.

"Then I have given what I can," Aniror answered and she raised her chin, something akin to defiance striking her eyes. "I have some notion of the road that leads to Imladris, if you would wish counsel in _that _matter."

Denethor seemed to smile. Faramir guessed that he knew Aniror's patience and consideration was spent. His father nodded and waved his hand.

"I thank you, Lady Elf. I am most appreciative."

Aniror curtsied, more stiffly and less respectively this time, before leaving.

Denethor turned to his sons. "This matter must be mulled over a while longer," he said. "I shall call upon you both before nightfall."

Faramir left his father's chamber and a grumbling Boromir to go in search for his wife. Concern stirred with him, unfamiliar worry that tightened a knot in his chest. Poor Aniror, she had not expected such a summons.

He found on her on some marble balcony. Her arms were braced before her upon the railing. A wind was stirring from the west and the Aniror lifted her head like a delicate mare, her nostrils dilated to catch some far-off scent that beckoned her.

The light of the sun was bright still and not blocked by the threatening clouds that marshaled to the south of the city. Faramir squinted, unwilling to draw closer to his wife. She seemed at peace now, casting off a haunted memory that had undoubtedly plagued her darkest hours.

And for the first time since their marriage he thought her fair, or at least softened from her previous chill. She had a curved jawbone and an altogether tapered face. Her nose was thin, her chin sharp and her blue eyes were narrow.

He approached her, one hand gliding along the balcony railing as the sun flushed and heated his flesh. Aniror felt him coming and turned. Her hip grazed the balustrade.

"Do not rebuke me, Faramir," she said. "I spoke justly to your father and with a good deal more reverence than I am accustomed to."

Faramir laughed. The heat had parched his lips. "I do not come to scold you." He set one hand on either side of her waist.

"Do you wish my counsel?"

"No," he said. His breath brushed a small gold braid by her pointed ear. "I would know something."

"Ask then," she replied with utter seriousness that warred with his coy smile.

"Did you truly love Erthor of Imladris?"

She did not recoil, as he had expected, but drooped against him. Her flank pressed upon his and for one moment, Faramir felt tempted to pull her further into his embrace.

"No," Aniror said. "No, I have never known love."

Faramir dropped his arms, the heat of the sun quenched behind a coldness that slipped over him, followed swiftly by the sting of disappointment.

* * *

"Faramir?" Eowyn watched as her husband turned away and shielded his eyes. "Faramir." She stood and went to his side. "What has upset you?"

"Our father called upon us that evening as promised," he said in a soft voice. "It was decided that Boromir would go to Imladris and seek an answer to the riddle."

Eowyn touched his back, her fingers moving in small circles upon his tunic. "And you miss him so."

Faramir paused, his breathing shallow. "Boromir? Yes. It is an ache that shall never subside, I believe, or fear, rather."

He pulled away, squeezing her hands once between his own. "Forgive me, I can speak no more now."

"Of course," Eowyn said. "I understand-

But he was gone, fled. Faramir reached the door and bounded through it, his footsteps sounding hurriedly down the corridor. Eowyn sat back down upon the bed, reached for Eomer's letter and held it to her breast.

"Come soon, brother."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I think that's the first time (including this story and the last) that I have given a full description of what Aniror looks like physically. I do hope it didn't sound Mary-Sueish.

The dream shared by Boromir and Faramir can be found in the chapter "The Council of Elrond" in "The Fellowship of the Ring". The riddle remains the same but I have altered Faramir's interpretation of it, instead of copying the exact words of Professor Tolkien.

Thanks so much reading! Please review. I cherish all feedback. Chapter Fourteen will be up on Friday.


	14. Chapter Fourteen Twilight

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter fourteen of "The Price of Pity". I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **Awen1923**, **ElfLuver13**, **blueoctober**,** Lady Anck-su-namun**, **Sarahbarr17**, and **acacia59601**. Thank you all! I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Fourteen Twilight**

Eowyn watched as Miresgal stood knee deep in a cluster of leaves. The child bent at the waist and gathered as many as he could in his hands before casting them up to the sky. They fell about him, a shower of gold and crimson rain. And from where she sat beneath the withered branch of an already stripped tree, Eowyn clapped.

"Very good, Miresgal!"

He laughed but did not look to her. Late afternoon it was and the evening clouds rushed across the heavens, bringing a chill that daunted even Eowyn. She wrapped a sable fur cloak around her shoulders and rubbed her gloved hands together. Flushed and chilled, her breath made gossamer patterns in the air.

Miresgal, however, seemed to take no notice of the cold. He stood in a green tunic that covered his knees and woolen breeches. A mantle lay askew across his shoulders, his hood pulled back to reveal the gold of his fine-spun hair. Suddenly, he stooped and picked up one leaf in particular, examining the dried stem and veins.

Eowyn sighed as she watched him, pleased that he was not as opposed to her as he once was. The pony had indeed been a disguised blessing, a distraction that brought them together and mended the fence of their unsteady relationship. Perhaps, she thought and crossed her fingers, such luck would continue.

Miresgal trotted over to her, leaf in hand.

"Look! Look!" he said and held it out to her. "Gold!"

"Yes." Eowyn took the leaf from him and twirled the stem between her fingers. "Yes, it looks gold, doesn't it?"

"Like Lorien," Miresgal said. "Naneth said the trees in Lorien were gold, like this, like this." And he pointed excitedly at the leaf.

Eowyn laughed, her firm mouth splitting, unable to contain a silly grin. "I have not been to Lorien, little one, but I have heard tales. Hmm, perhaps we shall ask you father. He knows of such things."

"Ah lady, you have me wrong! For I am but a simpleton, do you not see that?" Faramir strode towards them, taking the thin path that circled the small garden. His cheeks were hollow in appearance, grey and worn, though he smiled still.

"Liar," Eowyn said.

Miresgal looked at her. "Why you say liar?"

"I was jesting," she said quickly, noticing her stepson's serious expression that always heralded some sort of trouble. "Do you know what a jest is? A joke?'

"I am afraid so," Faramir said. He was near now, near enough to pull Miresgal into his arms and kiss Eowyn's cheek. "He has played enough jokes in his short lifetime. Remember when you hid from poor Uncle Boromir in the hayloft one morning, when he took you to see the horses?"

This brought peals of high laughter from Miresgal.

"Mischief-maker," Faramir said and in an undertone to Eowyn, "Aniror almost gutted Boromir for losing Miresgal. Fortunately I was in the city and able to prevent such an act. Ai! What a thing that was!"

Faramir settled himself on the ground next to Eowyn. Miresgal at once wriggled from his grasp and went back to his leaves, happy to swim and dive like a fish in the piles.

"Did he mind himself?" Faramir asked his wife.

Eowyn nodded and he smiled in relief.

"He was most well-behaved. That dark nursery does him little good, I think. Once he is out beneath the sun and sky, he is quite content."

"And more complacent?" Faramir's brows arched.

"Aye," Eowyn said with a laugh. "He learns. I daresay we get along better."

"I shudder at the thought of winter then." Faramir brushed the hair from her face with one finger. "Eru help us if he must be kept indoors for a long time."

"We shall come to that challenge yet," Eowyn said. "Do not worry over the matter now."

"I would thank you." Faramir dipped his chin into the collar of his tunic. "For your patience."

"Well, I should be quite wicked if I wasn't."

"Still." Faramir allowed himself a small smile. "I most grateful, more so than any word might express."

"Oh, I would not say that," she said and pressed her forehead against his. "Tell me more of Aniror."

"Lady, such a thing you ask!" And now his cheeks appeared thinner, his face greyer. Eowyn, however, plowed ahead.

"And where now is your gratitude?" she teased.

"Caught in your trap, am I?" he asked. "And such a treacherous web it is."

"Ah, but you wandered blindly into my den."

"Very well." Faramir sat back against the bole of the tree, the trunk black against his hair. "I shall tell you then of when my brother departed, though sad the tale might be. Often I have wondered if I should have gone in his place or if fate had set in motion something I could never have hoped to change."

* * *

_July 3018 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Faramir watched as his brother strapped on his gauntlets, the Horn of Gondor resting by his waist and swinging every time he moved. Warm air and an early rainstorm left the stable yard muggy and mud coated the bottom of Aniror's gown. She did not seem to the mind though, as she balanced little Miresgal on her hip.

"Such sadness," she said and Faramir was shocked to hear her speak. His wife had remained silent for most of the morning. "You withhold your tears."

"I withhold nothing," Faramir said somewhat sharply and then regretted it. He placed his hand on Aniror's shoulder by way of apology.

"I would not worry so much." Aniror jerked her head to the side, away from Miresgal's small fingers that tugged at her hair. "Easy, child."

"That I cannot help," Faramir replied. "He is my brother."

Boromir was seeing to the saddle upon his horse's back. He adjusted the girth strapped over the animal's stomach and fiddled with the stirrups.

"I suppose I would worry after Faeleth," Aniror said, speaking the name of her sister with some degree of sadness. "I still do, in fact, though she is safer than I with her husband in Lorien."

Miresgal suddenly clapped his hands. "Birds!" He pointed up at a dove that flew from the wooden roof of the stable.

"Birds!" Boromir tilted his head to the side and watched the bird take flight along with his nephew. He then held out his arms and Aniror handed over her son to him with no hint of reluctance.

"Will you miss me, little one?" Boromir asked. Miresgal pulled at the silver braiding on his collar. "You must look after your father while I am gone. He may be grown but he still needs looking after, certainly at such a time." And here his eyes cut briefly over to Aniror. She stiffened.

Faramir stared at the dirt staining his boots. Aniror and Boromir would not part peacefully.

"Should I bring you something back?" Boromir asked his nephew, who now had turned his interest to the Horn. "A helm crafted by dwarves, perhaps? Or an Elven jewel?"

Miresgal did not answer, his hand reaching for the tip of the Horn. Boromir chuckled and lifted it closer to his nephew.

"I _shall _gift you this, someday. Now give me a kiss goodbye. Oh, I will miss you!"

Miresgal obliged his uncle and planted a sloppy kiss on nose. Boromir laughed once more, though Faramir thought he heard something catch in his voice. Miresgal was handed back to his mother.

"And now for you, little brother," Boromir said. He stepped in front of Faramir and clapped his hand on his shoulder. "What am I to do with you?"

"All will be well," Faramir assured him, striving to ignore the dark worry that pricked his heart.

But Boromir seemed unable to contain his emotion. He wrapped his arms about his brother and Faramir felt a tear slide down his cheek.

"Be wary of all things," Boromir said. "Heed no lies."

"None shall be whispered in this house," Faramir said and despite his sorrow, he felt the need to defend Aniror.

"Take care." Boromir pulled away. "Take great care."

Faramir nodded. The words stuck in his throat. He could not speak.

And at last, Boromir turned Aniror.

"Do you remember what I have told you?" she asked. Her eyes were two blue stones, hard and cold and still angry.

"Yes," Boromir said. "But I shall find the way on my own."

Aniror raised her eyebrows. "As you will, but I know of no surer way."

"Farewell." Boromir turned from her and moved to his horse. Swinging his long right leg over the saddle, he pulled himself upright and gathered the reins in his hands.

Aniror shifted Miresgal in her arms and Faramir thought he saw something thaw in her gaze.

"Boromir!" she called. He turned and stared warily at her. "If you should pass through Lothlorien, call upon my sister and tell her that I am well…and greatly cared for."

Boromir seemed to hesitate for a moment, weighing her words and searching for deception.

"I will," he said at last. "Farewell!"

Waving his hand and looking only once behind him, Boromir rode through the gates of the stable yard and passed from the city. Faramir could not bear to watch him go. He took Miresgal in his arms and walked into the stable. Aniror alone watched Boromir depart.

* * *

Faramir paused and leaned his head against Eowyn's. "Such was his leave-taking."

"I am sorry," Eowyn said. Faramir sat up and clasped her hand in his.

"And still he remained prejudiced against Aniror," he said. "Though I understand his wisdom. No love was lost between them. He hated her from the first, when we came to Lothlorien."

"Your brother judged her well," Eowyn said. "For a time, at least."

"For time," Faramir admitted. The breeze blew dried leaves upon his lap. "In Lothlorien she deserved his wrath, I think, for she meant to do harm. But Miresgal changed her, at least in some small way. I do wish they could have parted in peace."

Eowyn said nothing but squeezed his hand. Miresgal shrieked with laughter and rolled in the leaves.

"Now they are both lost to me," Faramir said. "I wonder if they have found rest." He looked up and the setting sun glanced upon his face. "I had hoped that Boromir would return. Aniror seemed to think so as well. In fact, it was she who received word of his arrival in Lothlorien. And oh, I thought to hope."

* * *

_January 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Faramir had returned from Ithilien once more and leaving the stables, he went in search of his wife and child.

"In the gardens, my lord," the handmaid Esgaleth said when he met her in the corridor. "They have been there for the better part of the day, despite the weather." And she shuddered to indicate the cold.

Faramir took leave of her and passed into the small garden that Aniror called home more often than not. She had procured vines over the years and a vast array of flowers purchased through Faramir from tradesmen. And she had made it grow, after the way of her kind, until the stone walls turned green and flowers clotted the soil.

But now all was dead, bare and black beneath the chill of winter.

Faramir saw Miresgal walking more steadily than he had left him, clinging to the low branches of a small tree as he played. The child took no notice of his father. His head was cast back and down-soft hair swept the nape of his neck.

Faramir looked for Aniror on the stone bench that was wedged against a wall. To his surprise, she was not seated on the bench, but rather had her head against it. Her gown was spread out upon the ground. He watched her for a moment and a frown stole over his lips. She looked rigid and uncomfortably. Her hands moved laboriously over some embroidery. He leaned over her.

"Aniror, what ails you?"

His wife did not answer. With one hand, she reached up and grabbed the sleeve of his tunic, slowly pulling him down to sit beside her.

"I have received word from Lothlorien," Aniror said and her eyes would not move from the cloth on her lap.

Faramir inhaled the frosty air and felt it burn his lungs. Something dark lingered in her voice.

"Your brother, Boromir, has of late passed into the Golden Wood with a company of eight come from Imladris."

Faramir gripped her arm tight then, the garden quiet about them. "How do you know this?"

"I heard the Lady's voice calling in my mind," she said and smiled. "Soft and sweet was her tone and most warm. She told me of it and bid me pass such news on to you, that we might have some comfort."

Faramir could have wept for joy. Instead, he buried his head in the crook of Aniror's neck. Her hair brushed against his nose. Sweet-smelling it was and at once he remembered the bright elanor that bloomed in Lothlorien.

"It is not so bad, is it?" Aniror asked him at length. "He has been accounted for and is safe…for the time."

Faramir grinned through his tears and lifted his head. There sat Aniror, huddled and seemingly small against a sky of winter twilight. He took her chin in hand and brought her close. His lips pressed upon hers. She did not draw away, but kissed him in full and when they had done, he regarded her once more.

A change seemed to sweep over Aniror, or so he thought. Here sat an ancient creature, one who had spoken to and loved the stars. One who had wandered and sang the old songs when they were counted as new. In her eyes there hearkened a keen longing, a wish for the undimmed glory of Lorien and her people. But a cloud passed over the newly-risen moon and a shadow fell and Aniror of Lorien existed no longer, except as Aniror his wife.

Miresgal wandered over and Aniror at once took her son into her arms, speaking to him in a high, chirruping voice. Faramir leaned against the stone bench now. A fresh pain pierced his heart. For years he had blamed Aniror for her misery and for years he had been petty, believing himself to be an innocent in the affair.

Yet as the shades of night fell, more became clear to him. The fault was not Aniror's alone and he could have wept for the knowledge of it.

* * *

"I think," Eowyn said slowly and with more than a little hesitation, "that Aniror must have loved you very dearly."

Faramir raised his head from where it had been bent upon his chest. "Why is that?"

"To have stayed in Gondor," Eowyn mumbled. "Something other than utter desperation held her here."

"Miresgal," Faramir said and looked to his son lying amongst the leaves.

"No." Eowyn swallowed the rising lump in her throat, surprised to find a bitter twinge of jealousy pluck at her heart. "I think there was something more."

"She never spoke of it," Faramir said. Eowyn realized he must have sensed her unease. "I do not think it so, no matter how we fancy."

"That I do not believe…" Eowyn began to say, but Miresgal hurried over, blessedly distracting them both.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Some of you may have noticed that for the first time Faramir kissed Aniror on the lips in this chapter. Earlier, he only kissed her on the throat, which I believe to be more representative of the sensual rather than true romantic love.

I thought I would let you know (to see if there is any interest) that I have had several plotbunnies rolling around in my head. While writing chapter seventeen (by the way, there will be twenty-four chapters in this story and an epilogue) I came up with several ideas for one-shots and shorter stories. For example, the full version of how Aniror and Faramir met. And what happened when Faramir introduced Denethor to his new wife. And of course, I have many ideas involving Faramir and Eowyn, but I would not want to say too much now and give away the end of this story! So, in short, would any of you be interested in reading such one-shots?

Well, thanks again for reading! I have a busy week ahead, but I promise to have Chapter Fifteen up by Wednesday. To those of you that celebrate, have a very happy Easter!


	15. Chapter Fifteen Death

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter fifteen of "The Price of Pity". The site seemed to be down for quite awhile, but finally I was able to post this chapter this afternoon. I think the title of this chapter says it all and believe me, I wasn't happy about letting Boromir go. He has definitely become a favorite character of mine. I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **acacia59601**, **MerryKK**, **ElfLuver13**, **blueoctober**, **Ponytail Goddess**, **Lady Anck-su-namun** and **Awen1923**. Thanks everyone! As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Fifteen Death**

There was laughter around the King's table. Eowyn relaxed at the sound of it, watching as her husband chortled until his face was red. Aragorn laid his hand on Faramir's back.

"And what did your father say when he found half of his horses running through the streets?"

Faramir sighed and wiped his eyes. "He was quite silent at first, though Boromir later said he thought our poor father would faint. Oh! I did not sit properly for a week after and neither did Boromir." And he winced at the memory, the table once more erupting with laughter.

"Such a sight is common in Rohan," Eowyn put in as she lifted her goblet to her lips. "In fact I have known a family or two that brought their horses indoors when the stable fell into disrepair."

"That would be quite impossible in Lothlorien," Queen Arwen said at once, "for there my people are housed in the very trees."

"Indeed," Aragorn said. A moment of uneasy silence reigned. Faramir played with his fork and Eowyn felt the heat of the wine rush to her face.

"I remember the Golden Wood well," Faramir said. He kept his eyes bent on the linen tablecloth. "A wondrous place it was."

"Tell us," Aragorn said rather hastily and in a jovial tone. "How is little Miresgal? I have heard rumors that he has become quite complacent and dare I say, manageable."

"Very much so, my lord," Eowyn replied eagerly. "I have been instructing him as to the finer points of horsemanship and he does enjoy his new pony."

Arwen nodded at Faramir. "A worthy gift that was."

"I had feared he was too young." Faramir kept his eyes upon the table. "But Eowyn said otherwise. It appears she was correct."

"That is good to hear indeed," Aragorn said. He leaned back in his chair, the last of his evening meal lying scattered before him on his plate.

The King had been most kind, Eowyn thought, to invite them to share supper this night. Much of the eve had been spent in jest and mirth, even as the winter wind screeched outside and threatened to tear the shutters from the windows. A great fire burned in the hearth and every so often a servant would appear and cast more fuel upon the blaze. Never before had the King's private apartments appeared so cheery.

Eowyn took another sip of wine as Aragorn looked to Faramir. In the King's eyes she saw tender care, as a beloved uncle might look upon a nephew. Grief touched her heart then, as she remembered her own uncle's kind smiles and imagined him buried in the frozen earth.

"There is something that I would tell you," Aragorn said. Faramir raised his eyes at once.

"Yes, sire?" he tilted his head forward, indicating that he was respectively attentive to his monarch.

"I have decided, with you permission of course, to construct a small memorial in honor of your brother, who was lost to valor and should be ever remembered in this city."

Faramir sat up straight now, pride flickering across his countenance. "There is no suitable way I might thank you, sire, for such a gift."

"I require no thanks." Aragorn held up his hand. "Your devoted service is quite enough, along with your brother's who often aided me on our journey."

Faramir bowed his head and as he did so, Eowyn thought she saw a tear glint in his eye. "Then I am truly speechless, my lord."

* * *

After dinner, Eowyn and Faramir walked through corridors back to their chamber. The snow clouds had been swept away by the wind and a clear, cold moon shone. Silver light fell over Eowyn, etching her face with pale lines and shadows. Faramir clutched her hand in his. She felt his palm, sticky and warm with sweat. He ran his thumb over her knuckles.

"I want to know, Faramir," she said at length. "How did Boromir die?'

Faramir shuddered and leaned upon her shoulder. She supported him, one hand crawling around his waist.

"I remember it still," he whispered. "There is no way to forget, I suppose. Faint, it was, though still I heard his call."

"I do not understand," Eowyn said. "How could you have possibly heard him? Was he not slain by Rauros?"

"His horn," Faramir said. "That alone I heard."

* * *

_February 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Faramir paced the courtyard and blew on his numbed fingers. Madril, his lieutenant, rested against a high wall, his arms folded.

"Captain," he said at length. "We have too few men."

"I understand," Faramir said, somewhat tersely. Madril slumped his shoulders, his face grey.

"Captain, I only meant-

Faramir raised his hand. "No apology, please. I understand."

Madril fell silent and pressed himself closer to the wall, a shadow dropping over him. It was mid-day, but the winter sun seemed unable to warm the city and the light reflected icily off the marble towers and white paving stones.

Faramir sighed and watched as his breath uncoiled in the air. In several days time, he was expected to return to Ithilien with his Rangers and face a company of Southrons that sought to pass through to Mordor. And yet, he faced a familiar problem. His men were few, certainly not enough to ambush such a number of Haradrim.

"I am at a loss," Faramir thought out loud. Madril shifted.

"We might split our force, Captain. Half might follow the retreat of the Southrons. The remainder might attack from the right and outflank them."

"A great risk it is." Faramir stamped his boots and tried to regain some feeling in his toes. "Not with twice the number of our force would I attempt such a maneuver. Outflanking and direct engagement is best undertaken when battle is joined on an open plain or field. We fight from the brush."

"We must see that the route is complete, Captain," Madril said. He drew forth from the shadows and the sun blanched his hair. "We must follow their retreat."

"I shall not divide our force," Faramir said. He glanced at his lieutenant with stern eyes. "Once the enemy is put to flight, our company will as one pursue the fleeing Southrons."

"And leave no rearguard?" Madril questioned.

Faramir swallowed once, frustration coursing through him as his heart pounded in his ears. There seemed no sure answer in such a situation and when so many lives rested in his hands, he wished for something more certain than a guess.

"I must think over this matter," he said at length, brushing away a lock of hair that dangled in his eyes. "We must not be rash. To be impulsive is to tempt disaster. What have the scouts reported?"

Madril repeated all the information that had been given to him. Faramir listened carefully, one hand on his brow.

"We need more men," he said when Madril had finished. "It is clear to me now. We cannot proceed otherwise."

"But how, Captain?" Madril asked. His face was worn and a day's growth of beard darkened his jowls, giving him a mangy appearance. "Will your Lord father grant such a request for reinforcement?"

Faramir laughed grimly to hide his discomfort. These days saw Denethor locked away from the world, short in temper and quick with cruel words. Boromir's long absence weighed on him and more than once he had bid Aniror repeat her message from the Golden Wood, only to mutter angrily in return.

"I do not trust these Elves," he would say and Aniror would glare. "Mischief they conjure and false hope. I do not trust these Elves."

And other times, he would complain loudly to his councilors. "An Elf my son has brought home, an Elf for a wife! Verily she mocks this noble house and pollutes its bloodline. Oh that she never came to Gondor!"

Fortunately, Aniror seemed beyond his insults. She spent most of her time in the nursery with Miresgal, curiously sad and silent. Faramir even began to wonder if she had tired of Gondor now. Miresgal continued to exist as her dearest treasure, though for how long Faramir did not know. His wife was not cruel as she had been, but sorrowful and he worried that soon she would depart as most of her kin did, for the seas.

"Captain?" Madril asked softly. Faramir shook his head, wishing for Boromir's swift return. His brother had a way of putting wrong things right and bringing dark things into the sun.

"I will speak with my father," Faramir said, "though I can guarantee little these days. Black grows the wind and the sky. Sinister words and thoughts fill the nights."

Madril turned his head to the side, looking over high walls to the East, where a faint crimson glow heralded their doom and ash choked the once pure air. Both men shivered.

"The afternoon grows dark," Faramir said. He shook his cloak closer about his body. "And it is just noon. I must-

He froze, a muted call rising over the land and sweeping closer, brought to him by the wind. Two long blasts sounded and rang over the city. Faramir looked to Madril.

"Did you not hear?" he asked. Madril shook his head, his lank hair falling about his cheeks.

"No, Captain."

"Then listen."

Again the cry echoed about him. Faramir trembled. Madril look nonplussed.

"Do you not hear it?" Faramir said. His voice broke. Madril's mouth hung open, but once more he shook his head. "The Horn of Gondor."

* * *

Faramir glanced at Eowyn. "And I was not alone. My father heard it too."

Eowyn exhaled, her breath speeding past her lips as it left her lungs. "What did it mean?"

"Boromir called for aid…and I could not answer."

"Faramir, I am-

"No, no apology, please," Faramir insisted. He led her further down the hall, stopping only when they came to the nursery door. From within, the nursemaid could be heard singing, her voice low and husky. Faramir leaned against the door, Eowyn's hand still clasped in his.

"I did not wish to believe…I could not believe my brother was dead. Hope remained, as it always does, until his Horn washed ashore, cloven in two and I dreamt of his funeral boat."

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Faramir stumbled down the corridor, leaning against the nursery door. Pain shot up his legs and he panted. His thoughts turned over, laboring under the thick fog of shock and new grief.

What he had seen in the Anduin last night. Boromir…

The pale specter still hung in his mind, surrounded by a bleak light and mist that even now obscured the features of his brother. White, dead features.

He ran his hand over his mouth, lips trembling, fingers quaking. The door opened as he pushed it inward, the nursery lying bare before him. Aniror sat beneath the window and she sang a low voice. Miresgal rested in his cradle.

Faramir began to weep. Large, hot tears streaked down his cheeks and filled his eyes until the world was a painful blur and only Aniror's singing could be heard. Boromir, dear Boromir. His brother.

Memories swept by. Days spent in orchards with their mother. Golden afternoons when the sun caressed their hair and made their laughter all the more joyous. Dark nights when enemies howled and only in each other's gaze did they find hope.

Faramir tried to swallow the thick lump in his throat, but choked. Boromir was dead…

Miresgal had drifted to sleep. Aniror stood, her hand straying by the child's brow for a moment. At last, she turned to face him.

"Faramir." She spoke only his name and Faramir wondered if she knew. He opened his mouth to speak, but sobs came pouring out instead of words. Miresgal stirred in his cradle. Faramir fled the room, Aniror on his heels.

"Faramir." She was with him the corridor, her gown sweeping along the stone with a silken sigh. "Faramir, come to me. Do not run. Come to me."

Aniror took his arm and led him to their chamber. He followed her dumbly, grateful when she closed the heavy door behind them and he could weep aloud with great, harsh cries. His knees slackened, his weight suddenly seeming unbearable. Aniror gripped his wrist.

"Lie down," she said in a cool and calm voice. He let her bring him to bed, her hands on his shoulders as she guided him down upon the mattress.

"I…I do not…" Faramir struggled. She pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. "I saw a boat…him."

Aniror shut her eyes. "I do not understand."

Did she deceive him? Did she toy with his emotions at such a desperate time? Faramir tensed, expecting some wicked game from Aniror whilst swamped in grief. But when she opened her eyes he saw only confusion…and concern.

"An Elven boat," he managed, "similar in craft and hue to those that your kin sail in Lothlorien."

Panic flitted across her face and she inhaled sharply. "Did you see an Elf?"

"No, no." Faramir shook his head and the chamber ceiling swam before his eyes. "I saw Boromir…dead."

And then he was sobbing once more. Aniror curled her arms about him, pulling his head onto her lap.

"Elbereth," she murmured. "Oh fair Elbereth help us, help us please." Her voice trembled and one hand frantically stroked back his hair. "Oh fair Elbereth, oh please."

"My father," Faramir choked. "My father."

"He must know. Oh Elbereth. What are we to do?"

"I do not know." The fabric of Aniror's gown, drenched with tears and sweat, stuck to his face. "I do not know. I shall never know what to do." His breathing quickened. Aniror's hand paused by his ear.

"Hush, hush. We will go. Together, yes, we will go. And we shall tell your father." The stroking resumed, slow and deliberate now.

After a long while, Faramir felt his aching lungs still. He raised himself up, his face and gaze even with Aniror's. Her eyes were pale and bleary, as though she had withheld tears and sobs of her own.

"You are all I have left to me," he said. She looked away, her right hand clasped in his.

"And I have only you."

* * *

"I was shocked by her grief," Faramir said. Eowyn had come to stand beside him, her head resting upon the door. From within, she could hear sounds of the nursemaid moving about the nursery and soft murmurings that beckoned the child to sleep.

"She must have cared for your brother," she said at length.

"I do not think so," Faramir said. He seemed at once soft and silent, as though a light had been revealed to him when he had previously known only darkness. "I think…I dare to think…that she may have cared for me."

"Long have I spoken of such." Eowyn rested her hand on his shoulder, her fingers rubbing against the soft velvet of his tunic. "Only now do you find truth in it."

"I am foolish to even consider such a thing." Faramir shook his head. "Forgive me, you have no need for such talk."

"But you do."

"Ah, what a dark day has past!" He raised his eyes to the ceiling, searching for the stars and finding only shadows. "To think that Aniror too was dead in only three weeks' time."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Farewell to Boromir! He shall be missed. On a happier note, I have been working hard on some one-shots and other possible storylines. If there is a certain one-shot that you would like read, a scene that you wished had been included or anything of the sort, please let me know. I am always open to suggestions from my wonderful readers.

Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts. Chapter Sixteen will be up on Friday.


	16. Chapter Sixteen Contentment

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter sixteen of "The Price of Pity". I am off to a Loreena McKennitt concert tonight, so I wanted to make sure I posted this early as promised. This chapter is a little bit lighter, as you will see, but after this it's all downhill. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **acacia59601**, **ElfLuver13**, **Lady Anck-su-namun**, **blueoctober**, **MerryKK**, **animepotter**, **meisie** and **Sarahbarr17**. Thank you all! As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Sixteen Contentment**

Miresgal looked at Eowyn, his expression somewhere between a pout and a grin. "Then what happened?" he asked begrudgingly.

Eowyn smiled and held the toy horse in her hand aloft. "And then the king and his men rode back to the city and there was much rejoicing. The very roof of the Golden Hall trembled joyously to hear the gallant songs of the warriors and the king lived in peace until the end of his days, when he was buried with all honor."

"And then what happened?" Miresgal crawled forward on his knees, his feet tapping along the nursery floor.

"That is the end," Eowyn replied. She handed him the toy horse.

"But then what happened?"

The nursemaid chuckled from her place by the hearth, where she sat darning one of Miresgal's tiny tunics. Snow drifted past the window and hail hit the pane with a dull ring.

Eowyn mussed Miresgal's hair with her hand. "Nothing happens at the end. Isn't it about time for your mid-day meal?"

Miresgal fiddled with the horse and tangled his fingers in the cloth mane. "But what happened?"

The nursemaid laughed aloud now and Miresgal stared at her, affronted.

"Why you laugh?" he said with harsh indignity. His light eyes flitted back to Eowyn. "Why she laugh?"

"Because you are a clever little boy," she said. Miresgal shook his head with a snort.

"But I am a lord!"

Now Eowyn clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Never did she think she would fine amusement in chatting with her little stepson. Miresgal, however, had proved himself to be most attentive, even begging for stories on several occasions. She suspected it had something to do with the Elven blood coursing through his veins or perhaps he had inherited Faramir's love for lore. Either way, it made her days pass pleasantly, especially when she was confined to her chambers in such horrid weather.

"You can be both a lord and a boy," she said. Judging from Miresgal's frown, she knew he did not understand.

"But I am a lord!"

"Yes, you are." Eowyn lifted him upon her knee. "But you are also a boy." And then, before she could stop herself, Eowyn offered an unexpected explanation. "Think of your Naneth, Miresgal. She was an Elf and she was your Ada's wife. Do you see now how she might be two things at once?"

The nursemaid had dropped her sewing and began to cough. Eowyn ignored her. Miresgal said nothing for a long time, leaning his head against her breast.

"I miss Naneth," he said. Eowyn felt her heart twist. "Does Ada miss Naneth too?"

"I…I am sure of it," she stammered. Miresgal tilted his head up to look at her.

"Are you sure?"

The door opened before Eowyn could conjure an answer and Faramir slipped in.

"I thought he would be napping by now," he said, glancing at a very wide awake Miresgal.

"We have been telling stories instead," she replied and handed the boy over to his father. Miresgal wrapped his arms around Faramir's neck.

"Easy, child," Faramir sputtered and loosened Miresgal's grip. "Now have you been a good boy today?"

Eowyn smiled to herself, appreciative of her husband's stricter line with the boy.

"He has," she assured him.

"Why are you dressed like that?" Miresgal asked. He stared at his father's traveling tunic.

"He notices everything," Faramir said. He tapped Miresgal on the nose. "I am going to Ithilien, to see our new home."

"You're leaving?" Panic seemed to overtake the child. Once more, he gripped his father's neck tightly and buried his head against Faramir's collar.

"Only for a short while."

"No!" Miresgal wailed and suddenly he was sobbing. Faramir looked besieged.

"Miresgal, I shall be back, you will see. I shall be back in a few days."

But Miresgal was not to be comforted. Faramir sighed and Eowyn pulled up a chair for him into which he sank gratefully, the child shuddering in his arms.

"I had feared such," he said.

Eowyn touched his arm. "He is but overtired. Give him some time."

"His mother never allowed me to depart so easily either," Faramir said. With one hand, he stroked Miresgal back. "She was not quite so forthright about the matter, though she did make sure to air her…grievances."

"That I am sure of," Eowyn said with a sarcastic chuckle. But to her surprise, Faramir appeared trouble.

"Perhaps I should not have left her after all," he said. "A few more days we might have had then, but only a precious few."

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Aniror's eyes were on him and Faramir met her gaze, surprised to find unshed tears lurking amongst the light blue.

"You must not go," she said and her voice was low, determined, but touched with a tremble.

"Aniror." Faramir placed his hand on Miresgal's head and the boy leaned against his knee. "Not now."

"I do not jest," his wife continued. She bowed her head as a sigh swelled her breast beneath the black of her gown. Both mother and child were dressed for mourning. The harsh color was shocking when pressed against their white skin and Faramir was certain Boromir would not approve of such.

No, his brother would chuckle and order them out of such clothes. He would sweep through the Citadel and banish the silence that reigned. And he would bring Denethor out from his exile.

Faramir pulled Miresgal closer, happy to have his own son nearby. The news of beloved Boromir's death had destroyed his father and Faramir feared a dark end to things. Denethor had grown cold, locked up in some chamber until the last of the stares died with the dawn. And then he would come down to speak with his advisors but do no more. Hours were spent in brooding. Faramir could do nothing but his duty. And duty now took him to Ithilien to ambush a party of Southrons.

Suddenly, Aniror clung to him. Her hands wound over his forearm, over his gauntlets and she gazed wretchedly upon Miresgal who stood between them.

"You must not leave." Her voice echoed in the stone courtyard.

Faramir leaned closer to his wife and his nose brushed her cheek. "There is no choice in the matter. I am their Captain."

"Appoint a lieutenant," she said. "My brother-in-law, Haldir, did it often enough."

He shook his head. "Aniror-

"Oh please Faramir, I beg this of you. You must not leave, not now."

"Aniror."

She squeezed his arm. "Look to the East, do you not see it?" Aniror stared over his shoulder, fear narrowing her eyes and pressing her lips into a grey line. Faramir's heart slammed against his ribs. Such a free had drained his mother of life long ago. He took her chin in his hand and turned her gaze away.

"Do not watch the fires."

"It is not the fires I watch," she whispered, "but the shadows. Slowly they slide over the land. I fear a night will come in which no moon will rise and the stars shall be quenched forever. Do you not sense this?"

"Put it from your mind," Faramir said, unable to soften the hopelessness that coursed through him. The Shadow of the East had long haunted him and Minas Tirith, but he would not have it swallow his family.

"The time of the Elves is over," Aniror said. "My people are leaving. Perhaps my sister and her family have departed."

"Do you wish to leave?"

"No." A shuddering sigh escaped her. "But dark are the days that fall upon us."

Faramir touched the side of her head. "Have hope."

"I harbor none," she replied. "None for myself, that is."

"So despondent." He tried to chuckle, tried to squirm and shift away from the worry that churned within him. "Will you not give me a smile at least?"

"When did you ever wish a smile from me?"

"Now I do."

She obliged him, rather poorly. A cold smile froze her lips and did not climb to her eyes.

Faramir lifted her chin once more and kissed her throat. "Care for our son, protect him."

"I shall."

He wrapped his arms around Miresgal then and Aniror stepped back to watch them embrace.

"You must return," Aniror said at length. "Do not leave me here."

"I swear it," Faramir replied. His steps rang out over the courtyard as he left and his mind was marred with worry. He heard Aniror speaking softly to their son, heard her comforting tones and forced calm. Only once did he glance back at his family. They were standing beneath the sun or what was left of its warm light.

* * *

Miresgal had ceased crying and now rested his tear-stained cheek on his father's shoulder.

"Don't go, Ada," he said in a small, soft voice. Faramir grimaced.

"Only for a short while, little one. Eowyn will stay with you and I am sure she will take you to see your pony. Would you not like that?"

"Yes," Eowyn supplied. "We might go to the stables today after lunch. Would you like that Miresgal?" She reached forward and touched his back. The child flinched and pressed against his father.

"Don't go, Ada."

Eowyn caught her husband's gaze. "I shall watch over him, Faramir. He will be fine."

Faramir's mouth twisted in a frown. "You want the house to be ready in Ithilien, don't you, Miresgal?" he asked his son. "There are many trees to climb in the forest and a wild garden and fields to trot your pony across. Would you not like such a place?"

"No." Miresgal mumbled. "I want to stay here."

Faramir groaned in frustration. Eowyn rubbed his shoulder. "It will take time, Faramir."

"If only he bore such a love for Ithilien as I do."

"In time."

"It is a lovely place," he said both to Eowyn and Miresgal. "Fresh and fair. Flowers bloom readily, along with young sapling trees. Even during my days as a Ranger I found such a comfort in the wood, torn by strife as it was."

Eowyn smiled. "Tell me of it."

Faramir shifted Miresgal on his lap. "Ithilien was my home for many a year, a place of fern and dell and stream. I suppose that is why I strove to protect it so, from the darkest of enemies."

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Ithilien_

Faramir parted the brush with one hand and studied the field before them. Clumps of dried grass spotted the ground, along with dead shrubs that were veiled with the first touch of spring's green.

Damrod lay beside him on the ground, his head pressed to the hard soil. After a moment, he straightened up slowly.

"Heavy footsteps I hear," he said. "Ponderous. Belonging to neither man nor any beast I might recognize."

"Mumakil," Faramir whispered. Damrod nodded.

"So it would seem, Captain. The Southrons draw near."

Faramir scanned the bramble about them. Hidden in alcoves of branches his Rangers stood, each at the ready with longbow in hand.

"We have time yet," Damrod said. "Two quarters of an hour, perhaps."

"Then we must wait," Faramir said. He crouched on the ground. Damrod followed suit.

Silence passed between them and Faramir saw his Rangers resting, their eyes still attentive on the road. Damrod plucked a strand of grass and rolled it around in his fingers.

"I am sorry, for your brother."

Faramir cleared his throat quickly. "Not now."

Damrod nodded. "Tell me, Captain, how does your son fare?"

Faramir smiled, happy for once to be able to share a tale of his own child. "Wonderful. He grows so quick. At two he walks steadily and speaks. I was surprised, but Aniror says it is quite natural for an Elfling."

Damrod chuckled. "You are a proud father indeed."

"Of course. Would you expect me to act otherwise?"

"I have only seen your little Miresgal once," Damrod said, "and my wife has not seen him at all."

"Then I shall have to change that," Faramir replied. He laid his fingers on his longbow. "Aniror might be cajoled into bringing him for a visit. She stays close to the Citadel, but if I swear to go with her she might be convinced."

"And how is she?" Damrod said. He tilted his head down and raised his eyebrows.

"Content, I daresay. And calm. And most comforting."

Damrod smiled and his teeth were stained with sunlight. "I am pleased to hear such."

"He is a gift," Faramir said, staring at the shadows of the clouds that passed over the road. "Especially in times such as these."

"And you?" Damrod prompted him. "How do things stand with you, my dear Captain?"

"Well."

"That is all you will say?"

"It is the truth."

"That I do not doubt," Damrod said. "But I notice a change in your manner when you speak of your wife."

Faramir glanced at Damrod. "What mean you?"

"I can recall your anger, indeed your rage when you first brought her to Gondor." Damrod flicked away the piece of grass and curled his chilled fingers. "You were determined to part from her, in fact."

"Things have changed.

"Aye, they have. You have come to love her."

"That is false," Faramir muttered. "I am concerned for her and I may care for her as the mother of my son, but I certainly do not love her."

"Faramir," Damrod said. "You are a horrid-

"Listen!" Faramir raised his hand. Damrod fell silent. "In the distance, do you not hear it?"

"A moment, my Captain," Damrod said. He dropped to the ground once more and listened. "Footsteps," he said at length. "Close by."

Faramir parted the brush again and saw a long shadow stretch over the field before them. A massive creature swung into view, with long white tusks glinting in the golden sun. Southrons marched along.

"Give the order," Faramir said to Damrod. He reached for his bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver.

* * *

Miresgal nodded, sleep tempting his little eyes. He yawned and Faramir gazed upon him with a sad smile.

"Now I should think would be the best time to take your leave," Eowyn said. Faramir glanced at her and hesitation darkened his face.

"Very well."

He kissed the very top of his son's head and handed him over to Eowyn. The child mumbled, but fell back to sleep once settled in her lap. Faramir rose and brushed his lips against hers.

"I shall back soon."

"We shall wait for your coming," she said. "But please, do not worry."

Faramir nodded briskly. "Farewell."

When he had gone from the chamber, Eowyn glanced down at little Miresgal. The child had rested his head upon her breast, his fingers curled in a long strand of her hair. Eowyn sighed and for a brief moment, felt content.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your opinions with me. Chapter Seventeen will be up on Wednesday. 


	17. Chapter Seventeen Tragedy

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter seventeen of "The Price of Pity'. This chapter follows movie-verse, as you will see and is filled with angst, of course. I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **acacia59601**, **meisie**, **Lady Anck su-namun**, **blueoctober** and **Awen1923**. Thanks so much! As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Seventeen Tragedy **

"Hand me the curry comb, will you Esgaleth?" Eowyn reached over the door of the stall and received the dusty comb from the handmaid who stood in the aisle. She frowned, noticing the long brown hairs caught in the teeth of the brush. "Was this never cleaned?"

"I do not know, my lady," Esgaleth replied. She was stroking the long nose of Faramir's horse in the next stall. "My cousin used to work as a groom here. I could ask him."

"No, that is quite all right," Eowyn said and she picked out the hairs herself before giving her horse's coat a thorough brushing. "Strange as it sounds, I miss such menial tasks."

"Aye, my lady." Esgaleth smiled wide and bright. The handmaid had became a sort of confident and companion for Eowyn over the past few weeks when time dragged by slower than the snow clouds that hung over the city. She was a simple woman and Eowyn found common ground in her love for animals.

Faramir had not yet returned to Ithilien though a week had past. The household seemed to grow anxious, especially little Miresgal who had slipped into silence once more. Eowyn began to count the hours. And of late, she had taken to coming to the stables with Esgaleth when the storms ceased and a path could be forged through the cutting winds.

"I miss baking pies and pastries with my mother," Esgaleth said. "And spinning wool for yarn. There was little need for such work when I first came to the Citadel." She paused and sighed. "Though a few times Lady Aniror let me work with her the garden. Yes, only a few times."

Eowyn glanced over her horse's graceful neck. "Do you miss her?"

Esgaleth stepped back and began to twist her hands in her apron. "My lady?"

"Your old mistress," Eowyn continued. "Do you miss her? Or was her presence too difficult to bear?"

Esgaleth did not answer at once. Instead, she looked at her feet and her soft face become hard with thought. Early wrinkles touched her brow, creasing the smooth skin.

"I…I cannot say, my lady."

Eowyn shrugged. "I understand. We will speak of it no more."

"No, my lady. I do not mind! As it is, I have been thinking over such things, turning them over in my head when I cannot sleep."

"Oh?" Eowyn could not hide her surprise. "What things?" Esgaleth blushed.

"Simple things, my lady. And sad things. I do not think Lord Faramir knows most of it. Perhaps he should, but I am afraid to tell him, he seems so terribly vexed by Lady Aniror's death."

"That he is," Eowyn said. Jealousy tugged at her heart then, thinking of how Faramir's eyes would smile when he remembered his late wife and how his voice warmed whenever he spoke of her. "But I might tell him, if you wish."

"Well." Esgaleth leaned against the stall door. "I remember one time, near the end it was, when Lady Aniror acted most strange." She shuddered. 'Oh, it was horrid. Never before had I seen a creature so bereft and never before had I seen her weep so."

"When was this?" Eowyn's mouth hung open slightly. She rested the curry comb upon the door and faced Esgaleth. "I have not heard of such before."

"No one knew of it, my lady. Only myself and a guard with whom I was acquainted." Esgaleth curled her fingers in a strand of her hair. "It was when Lord Faramir went to Ithilien just before the siege. Lady Aniror was alone, save for her son. Some news must have come to her though, something dreadful. I thought she had lost her mind."

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

A cold wind fell upon the Citadel gardens. Esgaleth pulled her cloak over her chin and smiled when Nirorn offered her his arm.

"Will you walk with me a while, my lady?" he asked, his brows twitching.

"And get frost bite?" She shivered.

"The wind shall cease."

"You conduct the course of the wind now?"

"I have never known you to be so trivial."

"Bah!" Esgaleth slipped her arm between his and Nirorn beamed. The young guard had a pleasant face, a handsome face, she minded and of late he had seen fit to cast her the most admiring of glances. But Esgaleth was too clever to succumb to his charms at once.

"We shall walk for a while, only a short while," she sniffed. Nirorn inclined his head in a small bow.

"As my lady wishes."

Esgaleth stifled a nervous giggle behind the collar of her cloak and allowed herself to be led into the gardens. They walked for while, a long while as it turned out. Nirorn chatted cheerily with her and they discussed small things, like childhood days and memories. And as he led her out onto a balcony and they stood beneath the Tower of Ecthelion, Esgaleth thought she might just succumb to his charms. Bright starlight nestled in his dark hair and cast a gay light in his eyes.

"The winds have ceased," she said suddenly and looked out over the moonlit city.

"So I predicted." His hand touched her shoulder. "Are you not glad to have gone for a walk this eve?"

Esgaleth did not reply. A sound had caught her attention. Faint it was, very faint and far away like a breeze whistling through a cracked stone. She turned around and glanced at the Citadel.

"Did you not hear that?"

"No, I did…" Nirorn trailed off as a figure clad in white emerged from the shadow of the Tower. For one moment, Esgaleth thought it was the specter of the lamented Lady Finduilas, with her hair billowing out behind her. The look of death was on her face and her mouth opened wide as she wept.

"Lord Faramir's wife!" Nirorn said and Esgaleth gasped. Lady Aniror was shrieking, running towards them with her arms outstretched. She reached for something, her fingers splayed against the darkness.

"My lady!" Esgaleth cried, rushing to her. "What has happened?"

But Aniror did not answer. She ran past them, her gown caught high in the winds that now stirred.

"Fallen!" she cried and clutched at the marble balustrade. "Fallen! Oh Elbereth, they have fallen!" And then Aniror paced, her neck strained and her eyes reaching far across the land to some darker place. "Oh Haldir, captain of my youth! Oh sister how you must lament! Would that I were there…would that I were there to share in your tears."

Her hands raked at her face. "Elbereth! It is over. Each fair flower of Lorien has fallen to shadow. And oh, for many a night the Nimrodel shall sing and none shall answer its call!"

At last Aniror collapsed upon the white marbles stones and sobbed. Esgaleth's watched her back rise and fall, her body arching under each cry.

"What is this?" Nirorn asked in a shocked whisper. His handsome young face had faded, leaving him worn and wary in appearance. "What is this grief?"

"I do not know," Esgaleth said. Cautiously, she approached her shivering lady and dared to rest on hand upon her shoulder.

"My lady?" The flesh was warm beneath the nightdress though the cold air nipped at it. "My lady, what has happened?"

Aniror lifted her head, her hair still trailing upon the stone. "It is over," she said. "My kin…ai…the darkness of these days has taken them."

Nirorn had unhooked his cloak and slung it over Aniror's shoulders. She glanced up at him, her eyes lingering upon the White Tree that bloomed and shone upon his chest.

"Be happy, Gondorian," Aniror said and a jealous fire stirred within her gaze. "You who still have a captain to follow. The glory of Lothlorien's guard has diminished, for foolishly did they go to the aid of Men and fell in a place of stone away from their ever-green wood." She faltered, her ivory lips quivering. "Ai…what is to become of me?"

Esgaleth glanced back at the Citadel and was glad for the stillness nighttime brought. "We must get her inside," she said to Nirorn. "Lest Lord Denethor see. His temper is perilous of late and not meant to be tried."

Nirorn nodded and together they raised Aniror to her feet. She did not protest, but allowed herself to be brought back within the stone confines of the house and her chamber. There Esgaleth took leave of Nirorn, with much thanks and a promise to meet again. He, however, smiled uneasily.

"I have been called to Osgiliath for a time," he said. "Forgive me. But mayhap when I return we might continue our stroll. I know a lovely little garden on the fourth level."

"Oh, that should be wonderful," Esgaleth said after she had closed the chamber door behind Aniror. "Farewell for now."

"Yes, for now." Nirorn kissed her hand, then turned sharply on his heel and marched down the corridor. Esgaleth never saw him again.

Aniror had already lain herself down on the bed when Esgaleth entered the chamber and for a moment, the handmaid thought she slept. But then she stirred, turning onto her side with her hands clasped together.

"Shall I send for some wine, my lady?" Esgaleth offered. Aniror glanced at the arched ceiling.

"Was I destined to die this night?" she asked the silence and the stars that dipped behind clouds. "Had I not come to Gondor I should have gone with my kin to that place, that Helm's Deep, in the mountains. And there I should have died as a warrior, yes, I should have died this night."

Panic set Esgaleth's nerves ablaze and caused her fingers to tingle. "Shall I send for Lord Faramir, my lady?" It was a preposterous suggestion, she knew, but given Aniror's current state of mind, it might indeed become a necessary one.

"No." Aniror exhaled. "No, do not send for him. There is nothing that he might do, ai, there is nothing that I might do. Faeleth, my sister, my blood, such sorrow is yours! And little Pelilas. How shall you grow without a father?"

Esgaleth did not know what to say. Instead, she sent for the wine and watched her lady drink it. Soon after Aniror fell into sleep, her head lolled to the side on snowy pillows and her eyes fixed on the window she demanded left open.

And in the middle of the night, Esgaleth heard the soft sound of weeping once more.

* * *

"Helm's Deep?" Eowyn asked as she slipped out of the stall. "Captain Haldir of Lothlorien was Aniror's kin?"

"From the little I know, yes," Esgaleth said. The two women strolled side by side down the aisle, a brisk wind blowing snow underneath the door. "I had heard her mention his name before and Lord Faramir. She was his sister through marriage."

"How utterly strange," Eowyn mumbled. She had not made the acquaintance of Captain Haldir, only his corpse as it was prepared for burial along with the bodies of two hundred other Galadhrim warriors. The image of the frozen sorrow on their dead faces lingered in her mind and she remembered Legolas the Elf singing in a soft language as the graves were filled.

Eowyn could not reconcile Aniror's description with those tall, lithe beings, those noble warriors who now lay buried beneath green mounds in Rohan. Could she truly have been one of them?

Esgaleth pulled open the door and let Eowyn pass through. She wrapped her cloak about her lower face, shielding her skin from the bitter winds.

"I do not think Lady Aniror ever recovered from the shock," Esgaleth panted as she caught up with her mistress. "For several days she remained silent, restless and so terribly sorrowful. But then a change came over her, a great change and she would no longer remain bound to Minas Tirith."

"She left?" Eowyn asked quickly.

Esgaleth shook her head. "She tried to, my lady."

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Silence reigned in the House of the Stewards for a week. And a dreadful silence it was, one that kept Lord Denethor confined to his chambers and Lady Aniror upon a balcony overlooking the west. For a long time Esgaleth watched her mistress, fearful that she had at last lost her mind and would cast herself onto the stony ground below. But Aniror did not move, only stood and the wind tugged angrily at her hair. Tears darkened her eyes but did not fall down her cheeks. The servants began to whisper.

Only once Esgaleth had tried to entice Aniror to come inside. She stood in her lady's shadow and hid herself partially behind the door leading to the balcony.

"My lady?" she whispered, afraid her voice might unleash some black torrent of anger or sorrow from the Elf. "My lady, will you come inside and see your son?"

Aniror bowed her head but did not look at Esgaleth. "My son?"

"Yes, your son, my lady. The nursemaid says he cries for you. Will you come and soothe him?"

"My son?"

"Yes, my lady, your son. Do…do you not know your son?"

"I know my son," Aniror replied softly. "I know my little son. He who bears the mark of the Elves in his blood, he who will never venture to his homeland in Lorien, but will be forced to endure the stones and silence of _this place_. Oh! My poor little babe. The days are soon to be sundered and he must bear witness to such horror."

Esgaleth began to tremble then. She clutched the wood of the door and laid her head upon a large knot.

"Look to the west," Aniror continued. "There a light lingered, but no more. I understand now the sadness of the Lady. She knew it before the hearts of my people sensed it. Lothlorien will fade and our days are spent, my days here are spent. Oh my poor little babe. How I wish to hold him to my breast. May fate spare us one last tender moment."

"Then go to him, my lady," Esgaleth said. Aniror sighed and sagged against the balcony.

"I cannot bear to say goodbye."

Esgaleth did not question her further. Instead, she withdrew and went about her work. Time fell away in droplets and shadows lengthened in the halls. On the seventh day, Aniror abandoned her vigil and returned to the nursery.

Miresgal was thrilled to see his mother and Esgaleth could not help but smile as she watched him climb upon Aniror's lap.

"Come here, child," Aniror said and she wrapped her arms about him. The nursemaid stood to the side by Esgaleth's elbow.

"At last she comes," the woman said. "What has delayed her?"

"Grief, I think," Esgaleth said. The nursemaid stared at her with dull eyes.

"Why grief?"

Esgaleth pressed her lips together for a moment. "Something has been lost to her." The nursemaid nodded, but said no more.

"My child," Aniror said. She bent her head over his and kissed his cheek. "Do you not know how great your Naneth's love is for you?"

Miresgal looked at her, laughed at her seriousness and laid his forehead upon her shoulder. "When will Ada come home?"

"Soon," she said. "Do you love your Ada, Miresgal? Ai! What do I say? That is not a question to be asked when I already know the answer. But I must go now, for a short while and you must stay here."

"Why?"

"Because that is what I said."

"But why?"

"Give me a kiss, Miresgal. I…I shall miss you so."

Miresgal pecked his mother on the cheek and Aniror held him long in her arms.

"Now you must go and play," she said at length. "Mind yourself." Miresgal slipped from her grasp and busied himself amongst the wooden blocks stacked on the floor. Aniror rose and Esgaleth noticed that she was weeping.

"Go into my chamber, Esgaleth," she said. "Bring forth the chest that I have stored in my wardrobe. I have great need for it now. Please, be swift."

Esgaleth curtsied. "Yes, my lady." And as she hurried away to do Aniror's bidding, fear mounted in heart. The chest was freed from the wardrobe in no time and Esgaleth studied it. Unadorned it was, but heavy. Dust coated the lid and stained the lock. Aniror entered the chamber, glanced at the chest and began to disrobe.

"Do you know much in the way of armor?" she asked.

"No, my lady."

"Then you must help me as best you can. Open the chest."

Esgaleth hesitated. Aniror had pulled a pair of grey breeches out of the wardrobe and a tunic, articles of clothing that she had brought from Lothlorien.

"Open the chest, Esgaleth." The sudden firmness of her voice frightened Esgaleth. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the simple lock and after a moment, she threw back the lid. A golden mail hauberk lay within, crafted to mimic the appearance of autumn leaves. Aniror jerked her head in the direction of the chest.

"Help me dress."

"My lady…"

"The hauberk is first. Hurry now!"

Esgaleth obeyed and lifted the hauberk over her lady's head. Then came a skirt of gold mail, a second leather hauberk and a gold-plated cuirass. The fauld followed, along with the pauldrons. At last Aniror herself reached for the leather gloves and braces, strapping a pair of steel vambraces over her forearms. Esgaleth lifted the curved helmet from the chest and handed it to her mistress. Aniror tucked it beneath her arm.

"I must go to the armory first. Faramir was good enough to keep my sword, quiver and longbow along with his weapons. Then to the stables it is and then to Lothlorien."

Esgaleth could not withhold a gasp.

"Oh my lady, you cannot think to…you cannot leave!"

Aniror looked at her sharply and Esgaleth was at once aware that before her stood Aniror the warrior, not Aniror the cold wife.

"I go to defend my people," she said. Esgaleth pressed her fingers to her lips.

"Wait at least until Lord Faramir returns, my lady. Please. What am I to tell him?"

"No." Aniror strode over to the door and pulled it open. "I cannot bear to bid him farewell either." She passed into the corridor and Esgaleth followed at a short distance.

"My lady! My lady!" Aniror ignored her, hurrying forward until she came to the end of the hall and faced the courtyard. She reached for the door, but had the knob torn from her grasp as it opened.

"What is this?" Aniror whispered and she gazed down at something Esgaleth could not see.

"Aye, what is this indeed! Never did I think I would see an Elf in Minas Tirith, but here stands one. Hullo, fair lady. What has brought you here?"

Aniror stepped away from the voice and revealed a tiny man with curling hair upon his head.

"What is this?" she repeated. Esgaleth dared to step forward. The tiny man smiled.

"I am a Hobbit, thank you very much," he said. "Peregrin Took I am called. And your name, Lady Elf?"

"Aniror of Lorien," a second, sterner voice called. Into the corridor stepped a man all robed in white, with a long beard and staff. "Be gone with you now. Back to your chambers and child."

"Mithrandir!" And Aniror bowed her head.

"Away now," the man said. "Do not seek for trouble, you shall only beget it! Away now and wait for your husband's return."

And to Esgaleth's utter shock, her mistress obeyed. Without a word, Aniror turned about and hurried back down the hall.

* * *

Eowyn and Esgaleth strolled up that same hall, their cloaks loosed and hanging about their arms.

"She put away her armor at once," Esgaleth said, "and said no more on the matter. So relieved was I then. After all, what should I have told Lord Faramir if he returned and his wife was gone?"

But Eowyn was of a different mind. "He might not have been displeased," she said. "After all the agony she caused him."

"So I thought, my lady," Esgaleth said. "But now I believe he wishes for her, longs for her as it were. For so greatly I think did he love her. My lady?"

Eowyn had stopped in her tracks. Something cold slipped over her and she stared at Esgaleth. "You think he wishes for her over me?"

"No, no," Esgaleth said hastily. Her cheeks were stained crimson. "I meant it not so, I…did you hear that, my lady?"

"Hear what?" Eowyn shook her head, annoyed. Esgaleth clearly did not wish to answer her question.

"In the nursery," the handmaid said. She trotted down the hall. "I hear an unfamiliar voice."

Eowyn lifted her skirts and followed her. "A visitor, perhaps," she said.

"No, my lady. It is an Elven voice."

"The Queen, then?"

"No, my lady."

Esgaleth pulled open the door, peering inside the chamber. Eowyn glanced over her shoulder and a small cry slipped past her lips. Sitting within was an Elf, akin in manner, form and face to Aniror of Lorien.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Just so you all know, the Elf in the nursery is not Aniror. Those of you who have read the prequel "Wounded" might know who it is.

Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. Chapter Eighteen will be up on Tuesday.


	18. Chapter Eighteen Heartbreak

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter eighteen of "The Price of Pity". I am so sorry this chapter is a little late. I was away from my computer for a day and busy studying for finals. I would like to extend my most sincere thanks to everyone who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **The Phoenician, acacia59601**, **blueoctober, Sarabarr17**, **Nicole**, **Lady Anck-su-namun**, **animepotter**, **Awen1923**, and **ElfLuver13**. Wow ten reviews and over a hundred reviews in total! Thanks so much everyone! I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Eighteen Heartbreak **

A long moment passed before Eowyn felt her heartbeat steady. She stepped into the nursery, still clutching the door with her hands. Esgaleth had her fingers pressed to her mouth.

By the hearth sat an Elf lady with narrow shoulders and a tapered face. Gold hair brushed her waist. Dust and mud caked the hem of her green gown. At her feet Miresgal sat playing with another child, an Elven boy. Eowyn could not guess at his age. His body was that of a youngling's, yet his face and eyes spoke of wisdom and some deep grief that youth could not sweep away.

The Elf lady caught sight of Eowyn and stood.

"My lady, do you not remember me?"

Eowyn shifted her jaw. What could she possibly say? "No, lady Elf," she managed at last. "I do not."

The Elf smile or tried to. Her lips drew back, her eyes wide. "Forgive my unexpected intrusion," she said in a clear but sad voice. "I am Faeleth of Lorien, sister to Aniror."

"Oh!" Eowyn felt jittery all at once. She stepped forward and awkwardly clasped Faeleth's hand.

"My deepest apologies, I did not recognize you."

"I understand, lady." Faeleth bowed her head. Her shoulder slumped as though she bore a heavy weight. Eowyn remembered at once that she had of late lost her husband, Captain Haldir, at the battle for the Hornburg. "I hope you do not mind my sudden coming," she said at length. "I so desperately wished to see my nephew." And here she gestured at Miresgal who gazed up at them with unabashed curiosity. "So very little is now left to me in this world."

"You are most welcome here," Eowyn said once she had gathered her wits. "Come and sit now, a long journey you have had and weary you must be." She led Faeleth back to the chair and glanced at Esgaleth who still hovered by the door. "Fetch some wine for the lady, and food."

Esgaleth curtsied and fled the chamber. Eowyn turned around once, striving to ignored the rapid pulse of her heart that threatened to choke her. Where was the nursemaid?

"I asked for her absence," Faeleth said as she noticed Eowyn's wandering gaze. "I wished to have some time alone with my little nephew. It seems that we are getting better acquainted now."

"He is swift of tongue," the other Elven child said. Faeleth pulled him close and presented him to Eowyn.

"My son," she said proudly. "Pelilas."

Pelilas bowed solemnly and offered Eowyn a polite greeting. Esgaleth returned with food and wine. Eowyn savored in the sudden distraction. After Pelilas and Faeleth had helped themselves to bread and meat and good cheese, Eowyn took her seat across from them.

"Where is Lord Faramir?" Faeleth asked. She looked to the door as if expecting his entrance.

"Away," Eowyn replied. She tangled her fingers together, unable to escape the deep tension that settled over the nursery. Faeleth sighed and again her body sagged.

"I wish to speak with him."

* * *

Later that evening, Eowyn retreated from the nursery with an unusual headache. Of course, she did not _hate _Faeleth, but rather wished to have received some word of her coming. Sitting before such a sad creature was tiring and Eowyn often recalled Faramir's description of Aniror. 

"Sorrowful," he would say. "So very sorrowful."

Eowyn paused, leaned against her chamber door and rubbed her temples. The early evening stars had just come to the sky and their light could be seen falling through the window in the corridor. Eowyn watched the glow with a faint frown, suddenly feeling the chill of the winter upon her flesh.

"And here does stand the White Lady of Rohan, a moonflower beneath the jeweled heavens. Will she favor me, I wonder, with a single passing glance?"

Eowyn let the gentle voice slip over her, loosening the worried knots in her limbs and chasing the lines from her brow.

"Faramir, you have returned."

He stood a few paces apart from her and bowed. "Good eve, my lady. I have much to-

"Faeleth has come."

Faramir straightened. "What?"

"Faeleth," Eowyn said and jerked her head in the direction of the nursery, "with her son Pelilas. She desires to speak with you."

"Faeleth?" Faramir tested the name on his lips, folding his arms across his middle. He was still clad in his traveling cloak and it rippled at he moved. "I never expected to see her again."

"Imagine my shock then, when I discovered her this afternoon in the nursery."

"I am sorry for that." He stood beside her, his head pressed upon the door. "Faeleth."

"Will you not go to her?" Eowyn questioned her husband. He shook his head.

"How can I? She begged a small promise of me and already, I have shattered it."

Eowyn touched his arm. "I do not understand."

"I vowed to care for Aniror."

Eowyn tilted her head to the side. "Oh, Faramir…"

"It is an oath broken," he said quickly. "And I am sure Aniror now wishes that I had kept it. I can see her still, standing before me in this very corridor, as fair and sad as the final time I returned home to her. Before, yes, it was just before she gave herself to death."

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Faramir dragged himself along through the corridor that snaked outside his bed chamber. Noon had settled over the city and a darker noon he had never known. A moment he had to himself now and only a moment. The Steward expected him to recover that lost jewel, the once-bright Osgiliath from the enemy.

It was all for naught.

Even now he felt the slow chill of death seep into his bones and as he came to his chamber door, he tried desperately to dispel it. The cries of the Nazgul still deafened his ears.

No, he would not have Aniror and his child see such misery.

Faramir found his wife inside the chamber with Miresgal asleep upon her breast. She had turned the chair by the hearth around so that it faced the door and when Faramir entered, she sighed.

"I heard them shouting your name in the streets," Aniror said. Her eyes were wide and murky with unshed tears. "I heard them shouting your name and I felt hope."

"Aniror," Faramir mumbled her name and came to kneel by the side of her chair.

"What shall become of us?" she asked, her voice straining beneath the weight of a sob. "I cannot see. I cannot tell. But oh, the end draws ever near. Are we now powerless?"

"Mithrandir has entered the city," Faramir said. He touched her knee with the tips of his fingers.

"I know. I saw him."

"And I have reason to hope, for in the Wild I met with Isildur's bane and an end to darkness."

Aniror rocked Miresgal in her arms. "I do not understand."

Faramir frowned, the words dying upon his lips before he could speak them. Reaching up, he pulled Aniror's head close to his.

"Do not fear."

"How can you say such a thing?" Her cheeks were damp. "Do you not know what has happened? Do you not sense it?"

"Aniror-

"My kin have fallen."

Faramir put his hand on her shoulder. "What do you speak of?"

"Haldir, my captain and a host of Galadhrim. Abroad they went to aid Men, Men of Rohan and in a place that was not their own, they fell."

"How can you know this?" Faramir asked. Aniror trembled and huddled against him.

"How can I not? My youth I gave to the guard of Lothlorien, my very loyalty. I know each and every Elf by name, by face, by deed. My brothers they were and sisters. Oh! Matchless are the tears that join the current of the Nimrodel in the Golden Wood. And matchless are my tears that fall here, in this place of stone. It is over, it is over."

She wept then and clung to her slumbering son. Faramir sat back on his heels, shocked.

"To Rohan they went and in Rohan they fell. Curse that very land!" Aniror said.

"Do not diminish the valor of your kin by cursing their allies," Faramir managed to say after a short time. "Do not curse those that they went to aid."

Aniror lowered her gaze and bowed her head. "I confess, husband that I thought to leave Gondor and return to my own land. Certainly, they would not turn me away at such an hour of need."

"And here you sit."

"I could not bear to leave."

Faramir looked at her fully, his keen eyes searching her countenance for the usual deception, the expected lie. But Aniror's gaze hide nothing.

"Why is that?" he asked at last. Aniror's mouth twisted in a crooked smile.

"Do you still think me very wicked, Faramir?" There was something heartbreaking in her tone and the way her once proud head dropped down. She sat before him as a reduced being, diminished and despite his troubles, Faramir felt ashamed.

"No, I do not think you wicked," he said. Miresgal mumbled in his sleep.

"See how he rests." Aniror shifted the child so Faramir could see his face. "Peaceful. He does not sense the shadow, the very end of our days. Perhaps I should have never borne him after all."

"What is this you say?" Faramir leaned forward.

"My people, my kin," Aniror said, "we do not bear children in times of war, when one parent is likely to be separated from the other."

Faramir shut his eyes and clasped his hand over her knee. "Aniror…

"I know, Faramir."

"You understand why."

She shook her head. "Of old, I might have, when I lived only for some distant glory. But now, but…

Aniror broke off and began to weep. Faramir did not move, but sat helpless beside her chair.

"When?" she asked after she had managed to collect herself.

"Soon. Very soon. I go to Osgiliath and…and I would not trust in my return."

"Elbereth help me," Aniror said and nothing more.

* * *

"She was surprisingly heartbroken," Faramir said. "I never expected such concern on her part." 

Eowyn did not know what to say. A small part of her was pleased to see that Faramir had confronted the turmoil of his first marriage. But yet another part of her feared Aniror's memory. Would Faramir be forever lost to her charms?

"I should not keep Faeleth waiting," he said. "She is in the nursery, is she not?"

"Yes," Eowyn said. "I told her you would come, though I did not know when."

"Very well. I shall go to her." Faramir brushed his lips along her brow.

Eowyn followed him with her eyes as he walked away, etching into her thoughts the straight line of his back and the graceful way his hair fell across his shoulders.

And suddenly, she had a sense that another watched him as well and a chill stung her breast.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I know, this chapter was shorter than usual. The next one, however, will be longer. Well, I think I am starting to feel sorry for Aniror. Perhaps it is because I am currently writing the chapter in which she dies. (Chapter twenty-one, by the way, I know some of you are curious about that.) 

Thanks so much for reading! Chapter Nineteen should be up on Tuesday, but if things get crazy with finals, it might be up a day or two later.


	19. Chapter Nineteen The Oath

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter nineteen of "The Price of Pity". This is another very sad chapter, in my opinion. Well, to be honest, most of the chapters from here on will be sad. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **acacia59601**, **Chibi-Kaz**, **ElfLuver13**, **Lady Anck-su-namun**, **blueoctober, **and **MerryKK**. Thanks a million, everyone! As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Nineteen The Oath**

Inside her chamber, Eowyn let Esgaleth brush the tangles from her hair and twist her tresses into braids. Faramir had not yet returned from the nursery, a matter which both displeased and worried her. Her husband had certainly not seemed eager to speak with the Elf, what kept him so long now?

"You must not be vexed, my lady," Esgaleth said, leaning over Eowyn's shoulder with a tight smile.

Eowyn sniffed. "I am not, really, only concerned. A wife might be concerned for her husband."

Esgaleth placed the silver comb on the bed beside her and sighed. "Of course, my lady, even the most wretched of wives might be concerned."

"What do you think they discuss?" Eowyn asked at length, tilting her head just so she could gaze at the door. Sleet dashed against the windows and matched the crackle of the fire in the hearth. A chill climbed up Eowyn's arms.

"The child Miresgal, perhaps, or-

"Or Aniror."

"My lady." Esgaleth frowned now.

"Do you think she was concerned for Faramir?" Eowyn twisted her neck and gazed at Esgaleth. The handmaid plucked nervously at her half-braided hair.

"In some small way, my lady."

"And did she ever demonstrate such care?"

"Only once, I daresay."

Eowyn swiveled about on the bed, wrenching her hair out of Esgaleth's grasp. "Tell me of it."

"There is not much to say, my lady."

"Then tell me the little you know."

Esgaleth shook her head slightly and folded her hands in her lap. "Very well. It happened just before Lord Faramir departed the citywith his men, before he was so grievously wounded and before Lady Aniror…before she went to her rest."

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Esgaleth followed her mistress to the hall. She clasped her hands behind her back, if only to keep them from shaking so and her feet pattered along the floor, making echoes that bounced off the walls. Lady Aniror, however, seemed stoic.

As they walked, Esgaleth took the time to study the Elf's features, searching for some indication of fear or trepidation or worry. But Aniror's face was a sheet of ice, smooth, clean and transparent. No emotion encroached upon her gaze or creased her brow. No sense of the shadow that crept and slithered towards them. And no last droplet of hope.

Aniror whipped around a corridor and came to the entrance. She paused then, her head resting on the doors and her eyes shut. Esgaleth suddenly felt the urge to speak, to cry out and shatter the silence that fell over the House of Stewards like a death shroud. Aniror shuddered.

"None could have foreseen such an end bestowed upon me," she said. Esgaleth dared to approach her.

"My lady." Her hand gripped her mistress's elbow. "My lady, what is this you say?"

Aniror shook her head and seemed to return to the miserable anger that had always ruled her life.

"Nothing," she snapped. "Enter to the hall with me but hold your tongue. You will tell no one of what transpires. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lady." Esgaleth was too curious now to be frightened. She watched as Aniror threw open the doors and swept inside. The guard standing by the threshold tried to stop her.

"My lady," he said in a strangled voice, "Lord Denethor is at his meal and not to be disturbed.

Aniror glanced at him with eyes that threatened to melt his flesh. "When the White City burns, some shall hide and some shall fight. Have you decided, guard, which course shall be yours?"

The guard said nothing more, but stepped to the side. Aniror moved further into the hall and Esgaleth huddled by the door.

Lord Denethor was indeed taking his meal at a long table set in the hall for his use. By his side stood that strange, little creature, that hobbit that had accosted Aniror only the day before.

Esgaleth curled her fingers about the edge of the door and felt her eyes widen. Her mistress halted by the very end of the table. Lord Denethor looked up.

"And who is it that has let the witch into my hall?" he asked in a throaty voice, a voice that had never been his own until of late. "Or has she bewitched the doors to open before her as she wrongfully bewitched my son? A leech she is, one who fed upon the lifeblood of this house for many a year. Cast her out, I say."

The guard stepped forward, but Aniror raised her hand.

"A moment is all I ask," she said.

"A moment too long," Denethor replied.

"You shall grant it to me, Steward."

The hobbit and guard watched the exchange with quiet awe. Esgaleth hid her face behind the door for just a moment, steeling herself for the treacherous onslaught heralded by such harsh words. Oh how she prayed her lady would turn and flee the place. But Aniror stood firm and to Esgaleth's utter surprise, Denethor sat back in his chair.

"Speak," he commanded.

Aniror raised her head. "I would ask something of you, my lord."

"Do not drain my patience."

"It is a small thing, a request given in a dark hour."

"You call this hour dark?"

Aniror faltered then, seeming to fall back as Denethor reached for his goblet and drained it. A servant stepped forward and poured him more wine.

"Mock me not," she said in a voice that trembled. Esgaleth noted the dangerous pallor that crept upon her cheeks and the way her lips seemed too red, blood-red.

"I have never spoken a riddle to you," Denethor said, "though I have known nothing of lies from your lips! You, Elf, who let my son Boromir wander into peril abroad with some portent. You, Elf, who polluted the very bloodline of this house with an Elf-child. From the land of conjurers you came and a witch you are!"

The Steward rose from his seat then and Aniror braced her arms on the table before her. Esgaleth uttered small cry. But the moment of crises passed. Aniror straightened and held her head aloft with some last remnant of ancient dignity.

"I would ask one thing of you, my lord."

"And still she begs!" Denethor fell into his chair, the table jolting. "Does the supplicant dare to clasp my knees?"

"Nay," Aniror said softly. "But ask I will. Do not send Faramir away. Do not send him to his death."

Denethor raised a graying brow. "Even now the shadow etches darkness in your gaze. You would delay Gondor's valor? You would have this city fall to the enemy?"

"No!" Aniror seemed unable to contain herself. She choked and pressed her hands to her breast. "I ask this one thing, my lord. Will you not grant it?"

"Never shall I bend my knee to such a request born of your temptress tongue."

Aniror recoiled, weeping and Esgaleth fought the temptation to rush to her side and support her. The hobbit stared, his mouth open. Denethor turned back to his meal.

"It is the end of us all!" Aniror cried. She sobbed into her shaking hands. "The end! Oh, the fire comes and darkness, darkness that cannot be chased away by any light. It falls to me then, at the gates."

She fled the hall, brushing past Esgaleth like the wind and disappearing down the corridor. Lord Denethor called for more wine.

* * *

The chamber door opened and Esgaleth hopped off the bed.

"My lord." She curtsied as Faramir entered. He said nothing, but waved his hand dismissively. Esgaleth left.

"You come late," Eowyn said by way of teasing. Faramir frowned.

"Faeleth kept me long. We spoke of many things."

Eowyn ran her fingers through her hair. "I wish to know all of it then."

Faramir stood by the hearth, his face to the flames. Deep thought made his eyes dark and his face old and sorrowful. Eowyn dropped her hands back to her side.

"Faramir?"

He did not reply.

"Faramir?" She was on her feet now, the soft patter of her slippers sounding along the stone floor. "Why do you not answer?"

Her husband turned slightly. "Forgive me." Shadows darkened the right side of his face. Eowyn grasped his shoulder.

"What did Faeleth say?"

"I will not speak of it now." And he took her hands in his and kissed her fingers. "Not now. Perhaps another tale is due and a sad one it is, the very last time I set eyes on Aniror alive."

Eowyn's brows darted upward. What could cause Faramir to speak so willingly on such grief but avoid an otherwise simple question?

"If you wish," she said, "and if you can."

"Of course." He released her hands an ambled across the chamber. "I wonder now if perhaps she knew, so great was her sadness that black day."

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Aniror would not look at him. She kept her eyes on the ground, on some indefinable spot between her feet and the hem of her gown. Miresgal whined and twisted about in her arms.

"Hush," she said very softly, so softly that Faramir could barely hear her voice though she stood but a foot away. A keen wind stirred the newly green shrubs in the stable yard. In the streets Faramir heard the sound of hooves and hasty farewells and his heart bled for his young son…and his wife.

"You must have courage," he said at length and hoped such simple words would strengthen her. But Aniror seemed beyond any earthly emotion now.

"You go to your death," she whispered, "perhaps."

Faramir's back stiffened and he chewed at the corner of his mouth if only to stop his lips from trembling. He did not fear an end to his life, but oh, he would miss his family.

"I would have you swear something." Aniror clutched Miresgal in her right arm and reached out her left hand, brushing Faramir's gauntlet. "A small thing."

"What does my lady ask?" His voice shook when she touched him, but he did not draw away.

"Care for our son."

His head snapped back. The rising wind caressed his hair.

"Care for Miresgal. You must promise me this."

"Aniror-

"Swear, Faramir!"

"I swear!" He had not meant to speak so loudly. His voice stretched over the stable yard and rang in the white spires of Minas Tirith. Aniror sighed and her shoulders sagged.

"Thank you."

And then she was handing Miresgal to him. Faramir took hold of his little child, suddenly feeling as though his legs would give way. The boy said nothing, staying silent and solemn. He pressed his cheek to Faramir's neck.

A brief hug was all they shared, a short embrace. Faramir passed him back to Aniror.

There was nothing more to say, he found and nothing more to do. The last six years of their marriage seemed as brief as pleasant dream and yet also as long as a haunted nightmare. He moved to kiss her face, to stroke the point of her leaf-shaped ear.

Aniror pulled away.

Tears misted his eyes and threatened to roll down his cheeks. Faramir swallowed. Aniror reached inside the pocket of her gown. A small white flower was produced and she pressed it into his hands.

"Take it with you…for comfort and a lingering memory." She turned away before he could speak, before his fingers could touch the back of her gown. Like a vapor she slipped through his grasp and faded, the cold stones of the Citadel incasing her once more.

Faramir stayed no longer. Ignoring the sharp pain that plagued his heart, he mounted his horse and rode for the city gates. Never again did he see his wife alive.

* * *

Faramir sat down on the bed and his head fell against his chest. Eowyn watched him, listening to the hum of her blood as it rushed through her veins. Her husband looked spent.

"Do I dare break another oath?" he asked at length.

Eowyn shook her head. "Faramir, you have done no wrong."

But he shot to his feet suddenly and desperation made his gaze wild. "What would she have me do?"

"I do not-

"Aniror, what would she have me do?" Faramir paced frantically. "Ah, but she is dead and can tell me nothing. What would she have me do?"

Eowyn clenched her thin fingers into fists. Still he would look to his dead wife for advice, for comfort. Did she not stand before him, the lady who he had so ardently sworn to love? Did he not break an oath now?

"Faramir!" She could not keep the anger from her voice and it stopped her husband in his tracks. "Aniror _is _dead, gone. Do not seek for her shadow any longer."

Faramir sucked in his breath. "You do not understand, dear Eowyn."

"You mark me as ignorant?"

"No." Faramir strode across the chamber, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Eowyn, Faeleth wishes to take Miresgal with her to Lothlorien."

* * *

**Author's Note: **A short side note, Lothlorien has not yet faded when Faeleth asks for Miresgal to come with her. This story takes place in late 3020, early 3021 Third Age and Galadriel leaves for Sea in September 3021.

Well, despite all this misery, I do have some happy news. This week I started work on a short (so far seven chapters) humor story featuring Boromir and Faramir before the War of the Ring. With any luck, I will be able to start posting once 'Price of Pity' is finished.

Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. Chapter Twenty will be up on Sunday.


	20. Chapter Twenty Last Words

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter twenty of "The Price of Pity". This is another sad one and the truth will finally be revealed as to exactly what Aniror felt for Faramir. I would like to thank every who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **Sarahbarr17**, **MerryKK**, **ElfLuver13**, **acacia59601**, **Awen1923**, **blueoctober, Lady Anck-su-namun **and **rubic-cube**. Thank you all so much! As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Twenty Last Words**

Eowyn and Faramir stood by the open casement and cold air swept over their faces. The garden below the window trembled with laughter, the stone path resounding with the patter of feet as Miresgal played his cousin, Pelilas. The children chatted easily in some musical language, Eowyn noticed and she quite enjoyed the sound of it. Beneath a withered tree sat Faeleth, a small smile making her lips curve and her face come alive once more. Her grief seemed to drip from her now, like late ice shed from new spring leaves. Faramir leaned upon the casement.

"He looks happy, does he not?" he said and pointed at his little son who now hid behind a statue.

"He is pleased to have a companion, I think," Eowyn replied. She touched her husband's lower back with her fingers.

"Another Elf-child, you mean."

"No." A fresh wind shot across Eowyn's brow and reddened her pale cheeks. "I think he simply enjoys his play. Do not think of the matter so, Faramir. He is your son."

"Would that it were so easy."

Faeleth stood and pulled both Miresgal and Pelilas into her open arms. Faramir's face darkened.

"She is a good mother."

"And you are a good father," Eowyn countered.

"I am no Elf."

"And why should that be?"

Faramir exhaled and leaned back, his face lost to the shadows that filled the corridor.

"Aniror would have raised him well," he whispered. Eowyn bit down on her lower lip, hard. If Aniror had raised Miresgal well already, perhaps he would not have such a violent temper.

"You are a good father," she repeated. "Do not doubt yourself."

"Oh, but I do," Faramir muttered. "This is a matter that deserves the greatest consideration."

"You cannot be serious!" Eowyn slipped away from the casement, worried that Faeleth's Elven ears might sense words not meant for her hearing.

"I am. Keeping Miresgal here for my sake alone would be unkind. Aniror would certainly would not approve of such."

"And why do you seek Aniror's approval?" Eowyn asked. "Why, husband, when she is dead?"

Faramir flinched and his eyes flashed. "I mind that, Eowyn, I mind that during every moment of every passing day."

"You long for her then?"

"Yes!" Faramir stepped forward, a sudden look of desperation pulling at his face. Eowyn shrank against the wall and her hands fell limp by her sides. She could have wept but for the black emptiness in her heart.

Faramir seemed to collapse upon himself, his broad shoulders sagging, his head falling upon his breast.

"Forgive me," he said at length. "I meant it not so."

Eowyn nodded. "I understand." But still, her blood simmered.

"Then your knowledge exceeds mine."

"For the moment," she said with a forced smile. "And certainly not for long."

"I am sorry," Faramir repeated. "I do not long for Aniror. I only wish for some stability…and some happiness with you."

"Perhaps you should join them," Eowyn said. She suddenly felt like being alone. "Go," she tossed her head to the side.

"You need not stay here alone."

"But I might wish to."

Faramir regarded her with hurt eyes for a moment, eyes that spoke of countless hidden worries and grief. But at length, he smiled and leaned forward to kiss her.

"Forgive me," he said once more. Eowyn flicked a strand of his hair away from his face with her finger.

"Go to your son."

He hesitated, only briefly, but soon turned on his heel and disappeared down the long corridor. Eowyn shut the window and her hands were numbed by the frigid air. All things were quit silent and she enjoyed the unbroken peace, the calm that settled over the weary and worn Citadel.

After a while, she took to the corridor herself, intending to weave her way back to her chamber. Tension nipped at her heels and she quickened her step. Faramir's sudden longing for Aniror was troubling…and frightening. Faeleth's marked sorrow for her lost husband seemed like a single firebrand burning during the darkest hours of the night. How might it be ignored? Would Faramir himself succumb to some repressed woe and wish for Aniror evermore?

Eowyn halted, her hand brushing against the wall, her breast lifting under a sigh. Such longing was a dark thing, she decided, a dark thing indeed.

She raised her skirts and made to walk on, but a small voice stopped her.

"My lady?"

Eowyn turned to see Miresgal's nursemaid in a corner of the corridor.

"Yes?" she replied somewhat stiffly, causing the woman to fall deeper into the shadows. Eowyn frowned. She had never been overly fond of the woman, especially since the day she had refused to tell Faramir the truth about his son's violent tantrums.

"What is it?" she asked, softening her voice some. The nursemaid's face was pinched with uncertainty.

"I hope…I hope you take no offense, my lady," she said. Eowyn bristled.

"Offense? I should think not, unless a crime has been committed or a falsehood spread."

"No, no." The woman shook her head. "I did not wish you to think…I did not want raise suspicion…"

"Yes?" And despite her best efforts, Eowyn felt her patience slip.

The nursemaid swallowed. "I know, my lady, or I should say, I have heard that Lord Faramir has of late begun to tell you the tale of Lady Aniror's life."

Eowyn's brows darted upwards. "That is true."

"Oh." The nursemaid ran her tongue along her lips. "Well then, begging you deepest pardon, I believe that there is a certain tale that should be made known, one which Lord Faramir has no knowledge of."

Eowyn was thoroughly intrigued, but refused to display such an eager interest. Instead, she nodded stoically.

"Tell me what you will."

The nursemaid shifted, her feet making a soft noise on the floor. "My lady, perhaps you should keep this from Lord Faramir."

Eowyn raised her chin. "We shall see."

The nursemaid's eyes widened and she looked behind her shoulder once to see if anyone approached. At last, she turned to face Eowyn.

"Lord Faramir could never know such a thing, for he was wounded so horribly at the time. And oh, such a wretched thing it was, such a sad thing for a wife and her beloved  
husband."

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Lady Aniror stayed in the nursery after Lord Faramir departed. She sat by the foot of her son's tiny bed or stood by the hearth, her eyes fixed upon the window, searching for some hint of hope.

At first, the nursemaid found reason to be troubled by her mistress's somber, cold presence. But as the shadow lengthened and the people of the White City paled beneath it, she took comfort in such company.

Lady Aniror did not often speak to her or pay her any mind at all. What passed between them was only dead silence, heavy and stagnant with the promise of decay.

At night, however, she would sing softly to her son and the nursemaid would listen, shutting her eyes against dread.

For a time all seemed quiet. A day or two passed by with meals taken and clothes laundered and tunics darned. But as morning bloomed dank on the third day, the city resounded with a terrible cry.

"The Captain has returned!" someone shouted and the white towers rang for joy. Only Lady Aniror seemed dismayed, rushing to the window with her hair unbound and wild.

"But drums I hear," she said, her lips trembling as she spoke. "Fell voices darken the Pelannor. What is this…ai…I feel it now! There is a battle upon us."

The nursemaid shot to her feet at once and laid aside her sewing in favor of an obstructed view of the window.

For a long moment, Aniror would not answer. She bent her head on her breast and shuddered.

"Mordor."

A second cry then sounded through the streets, strangled but fierce and frightening.

"The Captain has been struck down! The Captain lies dying!"

Aniror leapt away from the window. "Faramir! Oh Faramir!" she cried. "I feared such darkness even in the light."

Little Miresgal began to weep as he sat upon his bed. Instinctively, the nursemaid scooped him into her arms.

"It is over," Aniror whispered. She wheeled about and crossed the chamber. "No mercy, no pity shall be spared for me."

"My lady!" the nursemaid interposed, her hands pressed to Miresgal's ears. The poor child was terrified by his mother's frantic manner.

"I must find him," Aniror breathed. "I must find my husband. Take my son, good woman of Gondor. Such sights will steel him for the darker days he might yet endure."

And before the nursemaid could stop her, Aniror flew out the door and into the corridor. Miresgal wailed, stretching his arms out. The nursemaid bounced him once on her hip and then, despite her better judgment, followed her mistress out of the chamber.

All was chaos in the hall. Servants stood about, some weeping, others shouting.

"Oh he is dead!" one young lad wept. He scrubbed his hands over his face. "What are we to do?"

"Dead?" The nursemaid stop, Miresgal screaming in her ear. "Dead?" she demanded of the boy.

A tall guard elbowed his way past. "Not yet," he said with a grunt. "Not yet, though terribly is he wounded."

The nursemaid wrapped her arms about the child and followed the guard with stumbling steps. At the end of the corridor she spotted Lady Aniror once more. The Elf had reached the door that led to the courtyard and was arguing viciously with the sentry.

"Do you dare detain me?" she shrieked, rolling back her shoulders and raising her sharp chin "Do you dare, soldier?"

"My lady is not permitted outside of her chambers," the guard replied. He stood fast, one hand reaching forward and landing on her arm.

"And who has ordered such a thing?" she asked at once.

The guard hesitated. "Lord Denethor, my lady."

Lady Aniror scowled. "A fool he shall remain until his very last hour," she said and with her shoulder, she pushed the guard away.

The nursemaid yelped and sidestepped the falling guard. Miresgal ceased his weeping, his little eyes wide.

"Come now," Lady Aniror said. She beckoned the nursemaid forward. "Do not delay."

She pushed open the door and walked into the courtyard, her head held high. The nursemaid followed reluctantly.

A storm stirred the sky, with black clouds chasing away the pale sun. The nursemaid stopped and tilted her gaze upwards. Such darkness she had never seen. In the distance, a rumble made the horizon tremble and the very Citadel seemed to quake. Drums.

She stepped out into the courtyard, onto the green grass that somehow warmed her feet and lessened the dread that mounted in her heart.

"My Lady Aniror?" she asked. Miresgal clung to her neck, his head nestled in the hair that fell over her shoulders. "My lady Aniror?"

But Aniror did not answer. The Elf stood transfixed, her hands folded over her breast , her eyes hard.

"My husband," she said and at last, the nursemaid caught sight of poor lord Faramir.

He lay on a bier and his head was turned to the side, revealing a pallid and sweat-stained face. Heavy, dark lids shut his eyes. The rough shaft of an arrow was buried in his shoulder and another stuck from his side. He did not seem to draw breath.

The nursemaid whipped around, darting into the shadow of the door and shielding the child with the palm of her hand. But Miresgal twisted about, his chin pressing on her shoulder as he strained to see his father. Lady Aniror still stood with her hands clasped before her.

"My husband," she said in a toneless voice. "My husband."

"He was found stricken upon the field, my lady," a man replied. The nursemaid recognized him as Irolas, a Gondorian officer who had been a close friend of the Lord Boromir.

Aniror's mouth dropped open and she paced forward. Lord Denethor emerged from the Citadel.

"Faramir!" He stumbled down the stone steps, a bevy of councilors and guards at his heels. "Oh say not that he has fallen."

"Fallen," Lady Aniror whispered. She knelt by the bier. "He lives still," she said and her trembling hand rested on Faramir's brow. "For how long, I cannot tell. The very stones of this city quiver."

Lord Denethor loomed over her, his great dark robes bruising the marble beneath his feet.

"Treachery," he said. "A second son felled by your hand, Elf!"

"He speaks of madness," Aniror said. Her eyes were wide with sudden understanding and fear. "He knows not what he says. Oh, grief has robbed his mind."

Denethor shook his head and his hair, now more grey than black, whipped at his cheeks. "This was your doing, witch! With your plots and words you destroyed my sons and left your own to sit upon the Steward's chair. Wicked snake, how long since the shadow took you?"

Silence stole over the courtyard. The drums of Mordor alone could be heard and cries of alarm from the people of Minas Tirith.

Lady Aniror stood and her face was as white as a clean bone. "It fall to me then," she said, "to defend what remains of my ruined family. It falls to me…at the gates." And then she turned to her husband one last time. "You have my love, Faramir."

He did not stir upon the bier.

Aniror strode past the grieving Denethor and back to the small door where the nursemaid still stood with the child. She took her babe into her arms and sighed.

"Fetch me my armor."

* * *

Eowyn leaned against the wall, her hand to her breast. The nursemaid stood still and kept her eyes on the floor.

"I thought," she said at length, "I thought perhaps you should know, my lady."

Eowyn exhaled sharply. "Yes, I suppose it is for the best. I would never have guessed that Aniror loved Faramir, never."

"Shall you tell him, my lady?"

Eowyn straightened. "Such a question is not to be asked," she scolded. The nursemaid took a step back. "Speak no more of this matter, I shall judge it for myself and then, perhaps he shall be informed. But not now, no, not now."

"Yes, my lady." And the nursemaid curtsied, stiffly, awkwardly. "Good day, my lady. Good day."

Eowyn was glad to see the back of the woman and once more, she sank against the wall, her knees folded before her.

Faramir must never know.

* * *

**Author's Note: **As you can tell, I decided to follow movie-verse for this chapter. And why is it, I wonder, that as Aniror's relationship with Faramir reaches its high point, Eowyn's relationship seems to suffer? Hmm…

I am afraid the next chapter will be Aniror's last. I really will miss her, even though she was quite a wretched character.

Thanks for reading! Chapter Twenty-One will be up next Tuesday.


	21. Chapter TwentyOne The Gates

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to Chapter Twenty-One of the "Price of Pity". Finally, Aniror meets her end in this one. I did not give her an easy death, nor a glorious one, but I think her passing reflects who she was in life, wretched. I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **Lady Anck-su-namun**, **acacia59601**, **rubic-cube**, **Chibi-kaz**, **Empress Guinevere Sparrow**, **blueoctober, **and **Awen1923**. To **Chibi-kaz**, the scene you suggested I actually already have written and it will appear in the next chapter. As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Twenty-One The Gates of Minas Tirith**

Eowyn pulled the coverlets over her knees and slid into bed. Faramir did likewise, his head coming to rest on the pillow beside her.

"Have you decided?" she asked after he had settled himself. Faramir stared at the ceiling with vacant eyes and made no reply for many a long moment.

"No, I must sleep on it."

Eowyn rolled onto her side and faced him. "He is your son, Faramir. There is no reason for you to part with him."

"I know," Faramir said quickly. "But it is not a decision meant to be rushed. There are times, small moments mind you, when I wonder if Miresgal would indeed be better off amongst his own kind."

"Then happy he should be here, in Minas Tirith, dwelling with his fellow Gondorians," Eowyn said and it was a struggle for her to speak so. Without Miresgal, she dared to hope that Faramir might live a quiet life with her. But in her heart, Eowyn knew he could not stand to be separated from his son and she would never seek to sunder them.

Faramir folded his arms behind his back. "That child is an Elf, his mother reborn. I do not think he is content in the company of Men."

Eowyn did not respond. Her mind raced ahead, burdened by guilt and sharp jealousy. She had never been a jealous woman, excluding the occasions when her brother rode off to war and left in Edoras. Yet this was a different manner of jealousy, born out of fear rather than want. She worried that Faramir still loved Aniror and that knowing the Elf had loved him as well would drive him to the utmost sorrow.

Eowyn glanced at her husband and saw that he had already fallen asleep. She pulled the blankets up to her neck to guard against the cold. The shutters rattled as they strained against the wind. And in the gray space between sleep and wakefulness, she thought the sound reminded her of battering rams and stones striking strong walls…

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Screams. The streets were filled with screams. Aniror dashed from the Citadel, her light Elven feet making nary a sound on the cobblestones. But her heart, oh her heart pounded within her breast, keeping in time with the eerie beat of the enemy's drums.

She heard them, yes, she heard them. Woodland ears picked apart individual sounds, guttural cries, the readying of catapults and the crack of bone beneath a well-aimed missile.

Mordor stood at the gates of Minas Tirith.

And oh, if she only had a dozen or so of her fellow Lothlorien guards. Little difference it would make, but perhaps then her fear might abate and she could stand against her doom.

The white towers and spires of the city shuddered as a fresh volley of black stones smashed into the walls. Frightened women raced by her, their children in their arms. Aniror's stomach clenched and bile threatened to rise up into her mouth. Her own child lay within the Citadel. Without a thought, she stretched out her arm and pulled a fallen woman to her feet. The woman gasped, terrified by the foreign armor Aniror wore, gold against the silver of Gondor. But then she noticed the Elven face beneath the helm and clung to Aniror's arm.

"The city will fall," she cried.

Aniror pushed her away. "Up to the higher levels! Go!"

The woman obeyed. Aniror raced down the winding, white lane, glancing only once over her shoulder at the Tower of Ecthelion.

Faramir…

A shower of shattered stones stopped her and she threw herself into a doorway, her arms over her head.

The shadow-laden sky was rent with a screech. Nazgul. Aniror beat her ears with her hands, panicked for a brief moment. The streets were alive with terror and her limbs suddenly went weak. She slumped against the door.

A strange longing for Lorien rushed over her. Aniror thought of the safety of the mellyrn trees and the ancient protection of Caras Galadhon. In this place, she felt no such safety. No, she was trapped between stone and shadow, death and doom. She would never see her homeland again.

Aniror fell to her knees, tears branding her cheeks with sorrow. She could not fight, she could not…

"Hurry men, to the walls! To the walls!"

Mithrandir cantered by on his Rohan-bred horse. Aniror shot to her feet, one steady hand finding her sword hilt. She _must _fight.

"Fair Elbereth!" she cried and flew back into the streets. Following the heavy footsteps of Gondor's guards, she made her way to the walls, wading through rocks and crumpled bodies.

Trebuchets whined and wood creaked, flinging missiles over the walls. Aniror mounted the stairs and gazing in-between shoulders, she caught a glimpse of Mordor's army.

A wave of black stained the Pelannor with large siege towers moving ever closer. Aniror leaned upon her sword, her resolve firm, but her heart broken.

She would never see her son or husband again.

Faramir, she almost wished that he would die quickly of his wounds. Let his suffering end before the darkness reached him and swallowed the city whole.

And Miresgal, her precious child. Had he not wings to fly and hasten him from this place. Had he not a way of escape!

Aniror lowered her head. Oh, her beautiful child. And oh, her dear, beloved husband…

Another volley of the enemy's missiles crashed into the walls. The city shook along with its men. Mithrandir alone stood tall. He turned about, his eyes rushing over the line of Gondorian soldiers, stopping last upon Aniror.

"Aniror of Lorien!" he bellowed. "Back to your husband and child! Back to the Citadel!"

Aniror glanced up at him. "My husband is shattered and my child is in peril. I can cower no longer. Who is to defend them if not I?"

Mithrandir studied her face for a quick minute. "Stand your ground," he said and then faced the black sea before them.

Aniror took her place on the wall, ignoring the fear that dropped into her stomach. Siege towers inched closer. She slipped her longbow from off her shoulders and nocked an arrow.

"Aim for the trolls!" Mithrandir pointed down at the brutish creatures pushing the towers. "Aim for the trolls!"

At once, Aniror understood. She pulled back the bowstring, waited a heartbeat and then loosed an arrow. A troll grunted below. Aniror reached for another arrow, the old intoxication of battle humming in her veins.

Eowyn jolted awake, throwing off the thick coverlets as sweat shined on her skin. Faramir still slept peacefully beside her. His chest rose as he sighed in his sleep and then fell as he exhaled. She watched him for a moment, her legs trembling as though she had dashed across a long distance.

Outside, the wind had fallen. Eowyn leapt to her feet and strode to the window. The shutters were thrown back and before her lay Minas Tirith, still and silent except for the errant howl of a lonely dog. No army battered the gates, no towers crawled close to the walls. The Pelannor lay empty.

She closed the shutters. Back to the bed she stumbled, throwing herself in-between the warm blankets. A dream it had been and no more. She crushed her head against the pillow.

Her eyes closed, but she did not sleep. No, she fought against it. Aniror's face wavered in her mind, fair and fierce and frightening. Eowyn curled her fingers over her eyes. She wished for dawn.

For a long while she lay with the coverlets pulled far up over her chin. And for a long while, she battled treacherous sleep. But in the end, her eyes ached and her body relaxed upon the feather bed. The gentle rhythm of Faramir's soft breathing lulled her mind. Aniror faded from her mind, a shred of evening mist whisked away by a Northern wind.

Eowyn drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

The great courtyard was strewn with soldiers standing in firm lines before the gates. Lances at the ready, swords unsheathed, they waited. Aniror stood amongst them.

The Elf glanced up to the sky once and searched for the stars. A dark night had come and no moon shown. Only the wicked light of burning torches pierced the black, along with the cries of the enemy that assaulted the gates.

Aniror lowered her eyes. She had never expected this.

From far off, in a land sweeter than Gondor, she remembered the whisper of the mellyrn and the songs that only the Firstborn knew. Pleasant had the nights been there, mild with delicate breezes and leaves that murmured lullabies.

She remembered the happy chatter of her comrades, the soft jokes and laughter that calmed the mind like heady wine.

And oh she remembered her sister, Faeleth, that bright-faced creature who never seemed to frown. And Haldir, a captain stern and wise. And the Lady, yes, the Lady. She remembered the Lady of the Wood.

Mithrandir was still mounted on his Rohan-bred horse and he trotted along the trembling lines of soldiers.

"You are men of Gondor!" he cried and his voice seemed to reach over the sound of the enemy's battering ram as it shook the gates. "Whatever comes through those gates, you will stand and hold your ground."

Wood splintered and a shrill gasp escaped the mass of waiting soldiers. Fire poked through and ate away at the shattered wood. Aniror's hands began to shake. She slid her fingers over the hilt of her sword, the steel cold and hard beneath her grasp.

Had there been a time when she had lived for battle? Those days were but shadowed memories now, distant and unreachable even in her mind. She wondered briefly what she lived for now and was surprised when the answer came to her mind at once.

For her little son…and for Faramir.

A mortal he was, a simple mortal Man. But of late he had seemed to be so much more to her, a gracious, gallant and loving Man who cared for a creature he should have abandoned long ago.

Aniror wondered if he had ever loved her.

The gates jolted inward, spewing cinders and dust over the courtyard. She took a step back.

The walls of the city seemed to close around her and at once she realized that she stood in her tomb. Sadness dashed over her, making her heart ache below the layers of bone and flesh and armor. So this would be her death. The furious chanting of the enemy shredded her ears. She shut her eyes and tried to reclaim the sweetness of Lothlorien one last time.

Once more, the hell hound battering ram smashed into the gates and they flew open, dangling on their ancient hinges.

Trolls pounded in through the wrecked gates, maces in hand.

Mithrandir cried aloud, some desperate command or plea to keep the guards in place. Lances were raised and several managed to pierce the leathery bellies of the beasts.

But Aniror had no lance, only a sword and longbow. Too late did she think to reach for her bow and a troll was upon her before she could nock an arrow. Instead, she drew her sword, slashing at the thick leg of the creature. Black blood spurted over her hand.

Aniror pulled her blade free. The troll stumbled, but did not fall. She scrambled backwards in a vain effort to avoid the frantic failings of the mace. The very tip caught her jaw.

Pain bloomed before her eyes and in her mind. Aniror staggered wildly, her jawbone shattered.

_Help. _She tried to cry out, to open her mouth and scream. Blood gushed past her broken lips instead and poured down her throat. Soldiers were moaning, dying. Aniror fell to her knees, her sword beside her, useless.

The wounded troll raised his maze. Aniror forced her murky gaze upward, past the troll, past the flames, past the deep darkness of the night sky.

Stars. There were no stars.

The troll roared and brought down his mace. Upon her side she was struck, the force sending her across the courtyard and into a balcony. Bones buckled and ripped through skin. Blood soaked her head. Aniror fell to the pavement and laid amongst the rubble, the last of her life dripping away.

* * *

Eowyn shifted and sat up in bed, her heart thundering in her breast. She looked about the chamber and found it dark and still. Faramir still slumbered beside her. She sighed, pressing her shaking hands to her white face. A dream. It had only been a dream.

Then somewhere in the distance, she heard Miresgal cry.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, that's it for Aniror. R.I.P. Hopefully Faramir and Eowyn can now move forward with their relationship. Aniror, however, will be appearing in the next few chapters, not alive of course.

Thanks so much for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. Feedback always makes my day. Chapter Twenty-Two will be up on Monday the 28th.


	22. Chapter TwentyTwo Healing

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to chapter twenty-two of the "Price of Pity". Slowly, we are inching towards the conclusion of this story with only three more chapters to go. I think I will miss this story, but I quite happy to move on to other things. I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and those who reviewed, **MerryKK**, **Empress Guinevere Sparrow**, **blueoctober, acacia59601**, **rubic-cube**, **Lady Anck-su-namun**, and **Awen1923**. Thank you all! As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

**Chapter Twenty-Two Healing**

Eowyn slipped out her chamber door and into the hall. Her flesh crawled beneath the silk of her nightgown and shivered with every breeze that shrieked up the corridor. She rubbed her arms furiously, ignoring the very last of the tattered dream that clung like a cobweb to her mind.

Still she saw Aniror lying dead by the gates, her skull smashed open and her life slowly falling away. Eowyn frowned. The Elf had died to save her son…and Faramir.

Jealousy made her gut curl. Ever since her marriage to Faramir, Eowyn had dared to believe that Aniror was nothing more than a hateful shade, a creature that had poisoned all about her. But oh, she now realized her mistake, the falsehood that had supported her misguided hope.

Aniror had been noble and she had loved Faramir.

Self-doubt gnawed at Eowyn. She leaned against the wall and pressed her fingers over her eyes. Faramir had loved Aniror as well.

It was a pretense and a bitter one, this charade of anger, this pretended hate Faramir proclaimed to harbor for his dead wife. And all the while, Eowyn had been the fool. She encouraged the lie, desperately and prayed that he would forget the enigmatic Elf that once shared his life.

But he never would…not while his son still dwelled within their household.

The child was an eerie mix of both his parents. Sire and dam had respectively molded his mind, though Eowyn suspected that he bore more of the mother and less of the father.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Faeleth should take Miresgal to Lothlorien. The thought shocked Eowyn, causing her heart to flutter. Yes, then she might live happily with Faramir. Together they would bear and raise their own children, not haunted Elven offspring, but Men.

A delightful shiver traced her spine. Eowyn pressed herself close to the wall like a shadowed thief come to steal in the night.

And yes, she was a thief, one who considered robbing Faramir of his happiness.

A tear rolled down Eowyn's ivory cheek and she let it fall past her chin.

She could not ask Faramir to give up his son. She loved him too much to even inspire such misery. The child, Miresgal, brought his father the utmost joy and Eowyn would never take such a thing from him, although it might leave him lost to Aniror's love forever.

Eowyn chuckled grimly, cursing love and nobility. And from somewhere down the corridor, she thought she heard a corresponding laugh, one that sprang from an Elven tongue.

She straightened and glanced about, expecting to see a spirit emerge and taunt her. Instead, Miresgal wailed and Eowyn remembered why she had left her bed chamber in the first place. Biting back a sigh, she hurried to the nursery.

* * *

The nursemaid was found slumbering in the chair when Eowyn entered. She ignored the woman and decided to let her sleep.

Eowyn waded through the shadows to Miresgal's bed and found him curled against his pillow, sobbing. He glanced up as she drew near, his chin quivering, his eyes bleary with tears.

"Miresgal." Eowyn knelt by the bed. "What ails you?"

He sniffed loudly. "Bad dreams."

"Bad dreams?" Eowyn repeated. She held out her arms to him. "Come."

The child hesitated, clutching his blue blanket in his tiny fingers. At last, he crawled forward on his stomach and let her embrace him. Eowyn pulled him onto her lap. Together, they sat on the floor with Miresgal's wet, runny nose pushed against her shoulder.

"Would you like to tell me of what your dreamt?" she asked, running her hand through his tangled hair.

Miresgal clutched her sleeve. "No."

"Very well." Eowyn did not let his refusal deter her. Instead, she rocked him back and forth, humming half-remembered strains of Rohirrim lullabies. The child did not sleep, but stayed wide awake, his eyes red and wide and frightened. After a long while, he squirmed on her lap and pushed himself up on his knees, looking her straight in the face.

"Ada has bad dreams too sometimes."

Eowyn wiped at the boy's tears. "Did he tell you such?"

"Yes. But he said not to be scared of them." Miresgal frowned doubtfully. "But Naneth said I might be scared, sometimes."

"Your Naneth was very wise," Eowyn said, surprised by her own words. Miresgal puffed out his chest with pride.

"She was an Elf. Ada says Elves are good. Was my Naneth good?"

"Of course and she loved you very much."

Miresgal smiled and at once he looked careless like any young child. "But you," he said at length, "you are not my Naneth."

"No, I am not." Eowyn took his little hand in hers. "But I can be your friend. Would you like that?"

Miresgal's mouth twisted. "Ada says I have to call you 'my lady'. Must I?"

Eowyn allowed herself a small chuckle. "No, you can call me Eowyn."

"That's a funny name." Miresgal wrapped his arms about her neck.

"It's a Rohirrim name. Do you know what that is?"

"No."

"Well then, would you like to hear a story?"

Miresgal beamed. "Yes!"

Eowyn curled her arms about his waist. "Very well. Have you ever heard of Rohan, home of the horse lords? That is my country and it lies to the north, far from here."

"Far?" Miresgal asked. "Do you miss your country?"

"Well I-"

"Dare I interrupt?"

Both Eowyn and Miresgal glanced at the door. Faramir stood there, a robe tossed carelessly over his nightshirt. He yawned and tried to pat back his mussed hair.

"I heard him crying in the night," Eowyn said quickly.

"Ah, well he is soothed now." Faramir stepped closer and took Miresgal into his arms. "Have you been a good boy?" He looked to Eowyn for confirmation.

"Yes," she said. "Indeed he has."

Faramir smiled and seemed to sigh in relief. "It is time for little one's to be abed," he said to Miresgal. The child whined.

"But Eowyn was going to tell me a story!"

Faramir's eyebrows darted upward. "Was she? Perhaps it can wait until the morning, yes? I am sure she would be happy to tell it to you then."

Miresgal groaned in disappointment but reluctantly allowed himself to be put back to bed. A few moments after his head hit the pillow, his eyes snapped shut and his breathing evened. Eowyn gently smoothed the covers over his chest.

"He misses his mother, Faramir," she said in a whisper. Faramir shook his head.

"He never fully understood her passing and neither did I. Elves are said to be immortal and yet her body broke just as easily as any Man's."

Eowyn said nothing for a long while, but Faramir slung his arm around her shoulder and pressed his cheek to her forehead. She could feel his soft, warm skin against hers and her heart jumped, beating wildly in her breast for a moment.

"Do you think me very wicked, Eowyn?" he asked at length. She stared at him.

"Faramir, I do not-"

"Because I am almost relieved, relieved that she passed and that my life led me to you. Have you never wondered what might have happened had I still been wed to her and met you?"

"Yes," Eowyn admitted.

"How horrid am I," he whispered. "I believe that I might delegate death to my liking. And I am happy to be freed of her, even at such a price."

"You…you did not love her then?"

"I cannot say. For a time I thought it possible, but no more. Now that I have felt the purity of your love, I do not think I ever shared such with Aniror."

Eowyn wrapped her hands about his upper arm and kissed his chin. And oh, she felt relieved as well.

"We must never let Miresgal hear such," Faramir said and he looked ashamed. "If he were ever to know that I did not love his mother…what torment that should be!"

"You think of nightmares when dreams should soften your thoughts," Eowyn said. Faramir frowned.

"I cannot help but think of it, when I awoke in the Houses of Healing and felt empty for that short time. Such a coldness it was and a darkness."

* * *

_March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith_

Faramir lay against a soft pillow and watched the shadowed figures slip across the room. Some would peer into his eyes and sigh. Others would speak, pressing cold rags to his brow and wiping away the last remnants of his fever. And everywhere, there was the scent of athelas.

"My son," he choked whenever a figure moved near. "They said he perished in the flames. Where is he?"

"Alive, my lord," a quiet voice replied and then drew away. Faramir settled back onto his pillows, relieved for the moment until another frightening memory of a fever dream returned to haunt him.

"My father," he said then and a figure stooped over him. "They said he perished in the Hallows. Where is he?"

"Rest now, my lord," a trembling voice said and then drew away. Faramir let his eyes close and slept until he say Aniror's face, shattered and her lifeless gaze searching for the stars.

"My wife," he cried. The figures rushed forward to press him back against the bed. "They said she fell at the gates and her life bled away. Where is she?"

No one spoke. Faramir felt a horrible emptiness fill him, as though his soul had been torn and left tattered within him. He tried to rest, but found that sorrow gnawed at him.

What had happened?

The King came once more, bringing soft breezes and a warm smile that comforted him. Faramir knew little of the lean, yet noble man, except that his heart hearkened to him as one who was lost but now found.

"What does the King command?" Faramir asked again, desperate for some life-giving order that would bring him from such languid repose and back into the world.

But his mind was still misted and he saw only the very outline of the King's face and heard a whisper of his voice.

"Rest, my Steward," he said and his hand touched Faramir's shoulder. The pain lessened beneath his flesh.

Faramir's mind reeled. He could remember little, very little. Cries of anguish he recalled and the harsh scent of wafting smoke.

And every once and a brief while, an Elven whisper tickled his ears and he recalled some lost words of Aniror.

Where was she?

"My son, my father, my wife," he said. The King only smiled.

"Rest, my Steward."

Faramir felt hollow, except for the pain that crept up his skin and burrowed deep in his bones. Stricken upon the field he had been and stricken he now lay, healing, not healed.

"My son, my father, my wife."

The figures congregated by the far side of his room and the King left his bedside to join them.

"Would that the Captain might be spared such agony," one said.

"Has the body been found yet?" another asked.

"We may still hope," a third said. "We may still hope."

The King stood amongst them. "Speak no more," he said and the figures fell silent. "Lord Faramir must not know, not yet. Keep silent and watchful and tend to him now, a man who has, for so long, tended to his city. Care for him."

"But he questions us, my lord," the first murmured. "What are we to say?"

"Nothing," the King replied. "Let him rest."

Feet shuffled and Faramir sensed a hurried, nervous step.

"My lord," a woman's voice said. "We have his son, little Miresgal. Should the child be brought to see his father?"

The King said naught for a time, but then sighed. "Yes." From his bed, Faramir saw his head bow and nod. "I think it only fitting and no greater comfort might a man have. Bring him in."

The door to the room opened. Faramir tried to tilt his heavy head upward, to see his tiny son borne to him.

"Your son, my Steward," the King said. Miresgal was gently laid beside Faramir and the child nestled close to him.

"Ada."

Faramir rolled onto his side, wincing. His son's face was blanched with fear, a fear that made Faramir's stomach tighten to see. The boy clutched his father's sleeve, sniffling. Tears fell down his cheeks.

"Ada."

"Miresgal, do not be frightened, child," Faramir managed to say in a soft voice.

"I am not frightened, Ada."

Faramir found his son's eyes with his own and saw there reflected the same emptiness he felt.

Wild terror filled him. Aniror, where was Aniror?

He feared he already knew.

* * *

Dawn streaked in through Miresgal's nursery. Faramir sat against the foot of his son's bed with Eowyn by his side.

"I have made up my mind," he said.

Eowyn glanced up at him. "Faeleth?"

"Yes." Her husband stood, slowly. "I will speak with her now. No delay, no, there must be no delay." He made to leave.

Eowyn hurried to her feet, her nightgown pooling about her toes. "Wait, Faramir."

He paused, half-turning. Eowyn tried desperately to swallow the growing lump in her throat.

"Do not send him away, please."

A smile threatened to invade Faramir's otherwise stoic countenance. "What is this you say?"

"Do not send him away," she repeated. "He…he is a joyful little child and your son. I do not think I could bear such a thing."

Faramir did not try to hide his smile now and Eowyn felt warmth shoot through her insides as she beheld him. Oh, he looked truly happy.

"Very well. I will speak with Faeleth."

* * *

**Author's Note: **To those of you that live in the U.S. happy Memorial Day! And to everyone else, I hope you enjoyed your weekend. Thanks so much for reading. Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me. Chapter Twenty-Three will be up on Sunday. 


	23. Chapter TwentyThree Burden

Hello and welcome to chapter Twenty-Three of the "Price of Pity". I would like to thank everyone who read the last chapter and those whore reviewed, **Caet Rae**, **acacia59601**, **Awen1923**, **AllAmericanPirate**, **MerryKK**, **Empress Guinevere Sparrow**, **ElfLuver13** and** Lady Anck-su-namun**. Thank you all for your continued support and encouragement! As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

Chapter Twenty-Three Burden

Eowyn slipped out of the nursery and into the corridor, her head pounding with exhaustion. She wanted nothing more than to retire to her own chamber and ease onto her bed for peaceful rest.

But her nerves were frayed, pulled taut by unusual anxiety. She would wait in the corridor until Faramir's return. No rest could be found until she knew the fate of their family.

Family. The word struck Eowyn as odd. Did she have a family already in Gondor? Certainly Miresgal was not her child and never would be, but already she felt some growing affection toward him.

Eowyn lowered her aching head into her hands. Perhaps Miresgal would forever hate her, regarding her as a false replacement for his mother who had been dead not a year. She bit her lower lip and swallowed away a sob. Oh, she only wished for some happiness.

Footsteps sounded down the corridor and Eowyn raised her head, expecting to see Faramir round the corner. Instead, she spotted a man much like him in height and form, another Ranger.

Damrod, yes that was the name of the raven-haired man. She remembered him now from her wedding and managed a smile for him.

"Good morn, my lord. What brings you here?"

Damrod paused a few paces before her, bowing lowly. "You, my lady. I wished to see you."

"Me?" Eowyn could not disguise her surprise. Her eyebrows shot upward.

Damrod laughed. "And your husband, if I am to be honest."

"Ah." Eowyn nodded. "He is not here, I am afraid, but gone to see Faeleth."

Damrod frowned. "Faeleth of Lorien? I did not know of her arrival."

"It was unexpected," Eowyn admitted. "But she came to see her nephew, a privilege that must not be denied her."

"Of course." But Damrod looked troubled. "I only met the kindly creature once, when she came to collect her sister's body. Her grief was great…terribly great."

"Can you tell me something of it?" Eowyn asked suddenly.

Damrod stared at her with intelligent, dark eyes. "Of Aniror, my lady?"

"Yes," Eowyn said slowly. Damrod seemed to hesitate.

"I assume that your husband has informed you of most of her history," he said at length.

Eowyn nodded.

"Then there is one thing I might tell you, my lady," he continued. "It is not a soft thing, but rather horrid. For you see, I was dispatched to find Aniror's body by the gates and a black day that was."

* * *

March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith

Damrod walked slowly down the hall in the Houses of Healing, his side pinching as he moved. A wound he had received during the fall of Osgiliath and for a time he had found himself confined to a small ward in the Houses, unable to even lift his head much less his sword.

Grief he had endured then, fighting the fatigues of his injury and the horror that came with the news borne to him by harried healers. Faramir his Captain had gone to his doom and returned bearing wounds that would surely bring about his end.

Damrod came to the end of the corridor, his head twisting about to catch any sight of a healer. Wounded men lay propped against the walls and beds were scarce after the siege. He had given up his own that very morning to a dying Rider of Rohan.

And now he sought news, any that he might gather. His wife had not been forthcoming and she had left him to help tend those brought in from the Pelannor. Damrod sighed and rubbed at his eyes. His strength had returned just enough to leave him restless. He wished to aid his fallen comrades.

Footsteps tapped along the corridor behind him, quick and deliberate. Damrod whipped around and his eyes searched for a healer. A man clad in white stood at the end of the hall.

Mithrandir.

The wizard stopped and his wise eyes went wide with a sudden understanding.

"Ranger, Man of Gondor, I must speak with you." Mithrandir's voice was strong, beckoning and Damrod made haste down the corridor, ignoring the twinge of pain in his side.

"Mithrandir." He managed a stiff bow, one which pulled mercilessly at his stitches.

"What is your name?"

Damrod glanced up at Mithrandir through his black bangs. "Damrod I am called."

A smile stole away the stern severity on the wizard's face. "A goodly name. Tell me, were you a close comrade of the Lord Faramir?"

Damrod's breath caught in his throat, sweat making his palms slick. "Does my Captain ail?" he asked in a strangled voice. The wizard's smile widened.

"He survives and is now with his son. Strength enlivens him yet. But my fear is not now for Captain, at least not directly so."

"I do not understood." A frown pinched Damrod's face. His mind was still heavy with the tolls of battle and pain fogged his thoughts. Amidst such tragedy, he could not be expected to think clearly or sort through riddles. "Will you not speak plain?" he asked quickly.

Mithrandir clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Impatient you are or worn down, perhaps. Dark days such as these try the minds of the stoutest men. But let us have no more inquiries, save one. Did you know of Lord Faramir's wife?"

"Aniror, that haunted Elf? Is she not with her husband?"

Mithrandir's face tightened. "No, she is not. And where she is cannot be guessed at. I saw her by the gates of Minas Tirith when the city was breached and I have not caught sight of her since."

Damrod felt the muscles about his jaw tense and he clamped his lips together. What had brought Aniror to the gates at all?

"That may not be guessed at now," Mithrandir said and Damrod realized that his thoughts were no longer his own. "There are some that wish for death before destruction falls upon them, though I have not known of that amongst her kind. And there are some that only wish to stay the flood that sweeps towards them. I believe that she was infected by the latter and thought only to save her family."

"Does Lord Faramir know?" Damrod asked, choking as he spoke.

Mithrandir looked down for a moment and leaned heavily on his white staff. "He suspects and the very suspicion wounds him still. Do you know Aniror by face, Ranger?"

"Yes," Damrod said at length.

Mithrandir sighed. "You might look for her then, by the gates. But what you find, whether for good or bad, you must not tell to Lord Faramir."

"I will do what I can," Damrod replied, his horror growing as he fully understood his task. He was being sent to look for a corpse.

Mirthrandir whipped about, the very hem of his robes touching Damrod's booted feet.

"Remember," he said in a hearty voice, "not a word to Lord Faramir, not a word!"

Damrod watched him move away and took some lingering comfort in the sight of the wizard's sure stride.

It took Damrod a long while to leave the Houses of Healing and work his way down to the ruined gates. Much of the city was strewn with rubble, the streets packed with frantic civilians and soldiers sifting through the dead. Fires still burned and blackened the white stones with ash. Soot and the stench of Orcs shot up Damrod's nostrils and made his head spin.

Fortunately, he met with Fingaer, a young soldier, on the fourth level. The boy was a cousin to his wife, eager to be of some help and more than willing to accompany a familiar face through the ruin. Damrod decided at once not to tell Fingaer of his true purpose at the gates, but mentioned only that he had been sent from the Houses to see if any yet lived. And to his utter relief, the ever curious Fingaer accepted his explanation without a single question.

In somber silence they walked, struggling over stones and broken swords and pieces of discarded armor. Every now and then they would come across the lifeless form of a fellow soldier. There was no way to prepare for shock each time and though Damrod wished to mourn his comrades properly, he wasted little time amongst the dead. Mithrandir expected his return.

When they came to the first level, a hastily erected barricade blocked their way. Fingaer helped the aching Damrod over a broken barrel and onto the other side of the street. And as Damrod set his feet on the pavement once more, his breath was torn from his lungs.

The gates stood just before him, shattered and burnt and dangling off their stately hinges. Sobs threatened to overtake him, but only for a moment. Gondor would be avenged.

"We must be quick," he said. Fingaer nodded mutely and his blue eyes were shot with tears.

Damrod wove his way between the shards of wood, the huge planks that fell from the doors as all of Mordor pounded upon them. At once, he thought of Faramir who laid in the Houses. Oh how it would grieve him to see such ruin and Damrod hoped that Faramir's eyes would forever be closed to such a sight.

"They all lie still," Fingaer whispered as he passed by one body. His hand gripped Damrod's forearm. "They do not breathe."

"They are dead," Damrod said with as much stoicism as he could muster.

"Is no one alive?"

"Let us hope that at least one is." Damrod set his jaw, moving with reverence through the slain men. Could Aniror have possibly survived such a slaughter? Elves were ancient creatures, capable of living through the harshest wounds.

He struggled to court optimism, thinking that perhaps they might find her wounded, but alive. Yes, alive. They would find her alive and bring her to the Houses where she would find rest and healing alongside her husband. And Faramir would be spared yet another loss in his life.

A glint of gold amongst silver caught Damrod's eye. He paused and cried out in alarm as his eyes passed over a fallen stone. Gold armor he saw, not the silver of Gondor. "What sorrow is this?"

Nimbly, he leapt over the rubble that concealed the body, Fingaer at his heels.

"What have you found?" Terror marred Fingaer's voice and he shuddered.

"It is Aniror, Lord Faramir's own wife," Damrod said. He knelt by her body and gazed upon the bruised face. Her eyes were not shut, but wide and open as she stared up at him out of her swollen face. Damrod struggled to recognize the Elven features he once knew, the tapered face and curve jaw and sculpted cheekbones. He saw not but blood and broken bone.

"Does she yet live?" Fingaer asked breathlessly.

Damrod did not respond at once, but leaned closer to Aniror. "My lady?"

Silence.

"My lady!"

A sigh rose up within him. Damrod reached down, placing his hands underneath her neck. He had meant to raise her up, but something wet touched his fingers. Damrod gasped, dropping the body.

The back of her head was gone.

Fingaer leaned against a stone, trembling.

* * *

Eowyn looked up at Damrod who had fallen silent. He ran his hand over the stubble that shaded his pale cheeks.

"She lay there dead," he said at length and his head turned away. Eowyn felt a pang of guilt strike her hurt. She had no reason to be jealous of Aniror, a creature who had live wretchedly and died in the same horrid manner.

Perhaps she deserved a little pity.

Eowyn adjusted the long sleeves of her nightgown, feigning stoicism. "What did you do, my lord?" she asked.

Damrod's dark head shot up. "I brought the body back to the Houses with my cloak stretched over her broken face. There was no litter to be spared and I carried her in my arms with Fingaer walking before me, guiding me with his voice over the rubble. We came to the Houses just before night fell."

* * *

March 3019 Third Age Minas Tirith

Damrod's arms shook and his legs weakened when at last, they came to the courtyard outside the Houses. Lady Aniror had been quite tall and the added weight of her armor made his body ache with every step. He panted, cringing as the stitches in his side pulled at his wound. Oh, he could go on no longer.

Upon a cracked stone he tripped, the body falling from his grasp and crashing against the ground. Her hand, stained with blood and dirtied with dust, peeked out from his cloak. Damrod fell to his knees beside her, spent.

Fingaer stood above him. The lad seemed lost, unsure of any action he might take. And he dare not touch the corpse.

"Shall I go for help?" he asked. Damrod shook his head and tiny beads of sweat dripped down his cheeks.

"No one must know. Mithrandir asked for secrecy. No one must-"

"Man of Gondor, what sorrowful burden do you bear?"

Damrod looked up and saw through the mist of his exhaustion, a tall, light creature approach. An Elf.

He stood slowly, his eyes widening in wonder. What had brought such a being to the White City?

"My lord," he breathed, for up close he recognized the Elf as male. "The burden I bear is not to be spoken of, or so Mithrandir ordered."

"Mithrandir?" The Elf's blue eyes narrowed in thought. "I am a companion of his. Legolas is my name and from Mirkwood I have traveled."

"That is a long way," Damrod said. "What peril has brought your forth?"

"The peril that chases every Elf, Man, Dwarf and Halfling from his home." Legolas sighed and knelt with fluid grace by Aniror's body. "May I?" He indicted the cloak.

Damrod nodded reluctantly.

The ebony folds of wool were quickly pulled back by Elven hands and Legolas sighed.

"Here is one of my kin," he said in a hushed voice. "From Lothlorien she came, so says the hue and make of her armor. Who was this lady?"

"Aniror." And for some reason, Damrod's voice trembled. "Wife she was to Lord Faramir. Wicked, she was wicked my lord, and brought great grief upon this house. And yet…and yet she loved her little son and husband dearly."

Legolas pressed his hand to his breast, his head lowered. "May she be remembered then, for the little good she did and not tainted by any foul thing she may have caused. Why, Man of Gondor, have you been charged as her keeper?"

"Mithrandir asked it so. Lord Faramir is not to be informed, not yet. Will you help me, my lord? I cannot bear her body any further and this boy," Damrod paused and gestured at the awkward Fingaer, "he should not be made to bear the weight of death."

Legolas nodded. "Indeed. Let me summon my companion, Gimli. His axe is sturdy and with my bow and your cloak combined, we might make a litter to bear her within. Gimli! Where has he gone now? Shall the Dwarf flee when my need is greatest?"

"Do not be so quick to curse your friend," a lordly voice swept through the courtyard. "he dwells in the Houses, happy for the company of the Hobbits, Merry and Pippin. Do not frown at me now, Legolas, my cares are great enough. What causes your distress?"

Damrod searched the shadows with his eyes, looking for a figure that Legolas could easily see with his keen sight. Into the courtyard stepped a tall man with a grey cloak over his broad shoulders. His features Damrod could not discern, but his heart stirred and a sense of great wonder stole over him.

Here stood one descended from kings.

"I do not mean to trouble your cares, Aragorn," Legolas said at once. "But here lies one of my kin, Aniror of Lorien and what your craft did for her husband, I fear might have little effect on the wife."

Aragorn halted before the body. "Lord Faramir's wife?" He glanced at Damrod with piercing eyes.

"Yes, my lord," Damrod muttered. "Dead."

Aragorn glanced down at the corpse. "Such was guessed by Mithrandir and greatly feared. She stood last with him at the gates, so I am told and now she stands no more." He stooped down and gathered Aniror into his arms, pulling the cloak to conceal her face. "I shall bear her now, though I leave her in your charge, Ranger."

"As you wish, my lord," Damrod said, finding himself unable to refuse the strange man.

"Tell no one of this," Aragorn said as he bore her within the Houses. "Tell no one."

* * *

Damrod broke off abruptly, his eyes wandering down the hall as Faramir approached.

"I believe that shall be all for now, my lady," he said in a undertone, then smiled for Faramir. "Ah Captain, how careless you are to leave your lovely wife alone."

Faramir chuckled, extending his hand and grasping Damrod's shoulder. "She thrives on her own, I think, though I wish she would find my company more pleasing than solitude."

"That is a matter for debate." Eowyn smiled wickedly.

Faramir raised his eyebrows, evidently surprised by her jesting nature. "I see that the mood has somewhat lightened since my departure."

"No thanks to me, Captain." Damrod said.

"Then be gone with you." Faramir waved his hand. "I need a moment with my wife."

Damrod offered him a short bow. "As my Captain wishes. Farewell, my lady."

"Farewell," Eowyn said. When Damrod had disappeared down the hall, she took her husband's hands in hers and met his eyes. "What have you decided?"

Faramir sighed and he kissed her fingers before speaking. "I have decided. Miresgal will stay, yes he will stay."

* * *

Well, the last official chapter will be posted next Sunday to be followed by a short epilogue. I am going to miss this story, but I think its time to move on to something new and perhaps a little lighter. 

Thanks for reading! Please take the time to review and share your thoughts with me.


	24. Chapter TwentyFour Passing Shadows

**Author's Note: **Hello and welcome to Chapter Twenty-Four, the last chapter of "The Price of Pity". There will be a short epilogue posted after this chapter to wrap things up and then I think its time to move on. I should mention that Eowyn and Faramir's meeting in Houses later on in this chapter is A.U. and follows neither movie or book verse. I've had tons of fun working on this story and I am so glad a number of you have found it enjoyable as well. I would like to thank all my reviewers and readers, for their continued encouragement and support. And also, thanks goes out to those who reviewed the previous chapter, **Lady Anck-su-namun**, **blueoctober, MerryKK**, **acacia59601**, **ElfLuver13**, and **Awen1923**. As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

Chapter Twenty-Four Passing Shadows

Eowyn was surprised at her joy and she embraced Faramir with a laugh.

"Why you ever debated the decision, I do not know," she said. "Miresgal has but one place, here with us."

Faramir rubbed her arms. "Strange for you to say."

"What?" Eowyn asked. "Do you expect me to be wicked?"

A half-smile caused Faramir's lips to twitch. "No. Never."

"Perhaps now you might tell the last of it." Eowyn pulled away and leaned upon the wall. "We have some time before the day begins."

"I should much rather sleep." Faramir yawned and a shaft of sunlight highlighted his weary face. "It has been a long night."

"And I was awake for most of it." Eowyn placed her hands on her hips. "Come now, I won't be kept waiting. You owe me the last of it."

Faramir glanced up at her through his reddish bangs. "So I do. But it is sorrowful. Do you wish to be saddened now?"

Eowyn inhaled, her nostrils flaring as she detected the soft scents of the morning. "I think it is impossible to be sad now. Don't you agree?"

Faramir did not hesitate. "Yes, quite. If my lady wishes the rest of the tale, then she shall have it."

* * *

Minas Tirith March 3019 Third Age

On the second day after his healing by the King, Faramir felt well enough to walk and begged the Warden of the House to let him traverse the garden. His request was met with understandable hesitation, but the Warden soon relented. Faramir found himself glad to be beneath the open sky once more and as he looked down from a balcony at the city, his heart clenched.

The lower levels of proud Minas Tirith lay mostly in ruins. Shattered white stones caught his eye, glinting in the sunlight like jagged teeth. And after a short while, Faramir returned inside, unable to bear witness to the dark destruction Mordor had rained upon his home.

The House was all quiet, deathly silent. Faramir walked the halls aimlessly, his feet whispering on the marble as he moved.

Something was terribly wrong.

His son he had seen, but he had heard naught of his father or wife. His questions were ignored or pacified with murky answers. A sudden desperate fear slipped over him, leaving him breathless and trembling. He leaned against a wall.

Where was his father? And where was Aniror?

Faramir had bent his head upon his breast and he was heedless to the silent approach of Mithrandir. In a moment's time, the wizard was at his elbow, one steadying hand placed on his shoulder.

"My lord, you are weary and must not be gone from your chambers long," he said.

"I cannot rest." Faramir met Mithrandir's gaze, his eyes searching for an answer he both feared and longed for. "I must know," he said, "before the very wondering destroys me. What fate befell my father and where is my wife?"

Mithrandir sighed but did not recoil from the question. "You must forgive me, Faramir, I wished to delay the truth. But the time has come now and I have no soft way of putting things. Denethor, Steward of Gondor and Aniror of Lorien have both passed from this world. One did perish in the Hallows, lost to madness. And the other was slain by the gates, as the city quaked for fear."

Faramir stepped back from Mithrandir, feeling no shock, but only sorrow. Such woe he had expected and his heart lurched, struggling to bear fresh pain. Furiously, he blinked away his tears.

"May I go to them?"

Mithrandir tilted his head to the side, his mouth opening slightly as he exhaled. "Your wife's body is being kept within the Houses, under the charge of the Ranger Damrod, for it was he who brought her from the gates. Faramir, heed my words though terrible they may be, Aniror did not pass from this world gently, she-"

"Suffered," Faramir's voice was soft, dead, emotionless. How could he ever feel again?

"But blessed peace may be found after suffering." Mithrandir gripped his shoulder, his eyes bright and earnest. "Both your father and wife have found peace, do not take their suffering onto yourself."

But Faramir was beyond Mithrandir's words and even the wizard's aged wisdom that he so loved sounded meaningless in his ears.

"I must see them," he said, a sudden sob tightening his throat. "Do not deny me my right."

Mithrandir dropped his hand from Faramir's shoulder. "If that is what you wish. I shall not deter you. But heed my words. Do not take on the past sufferings of the dead. They are at peace and so should it be with you."

Faramir found Damrod standing in an empty corridor, his back pressed to a door. The old Ranger straightened upon seeing his Captain and reached forward, his arms open.

"My lord." Damrod embraced him. "Much joy is found in your health. And oh, they said you should never rise again."

"Not I, friend," Faramir said. He grasped Damrod's arm. "Do not think me wicked, but now, I almost wish the dart had pierced my heart. What am I to tell Miresgal?"

Damrod stepped back. "So you know?"

"Yes." Faramir paused and fought back the sorrow that threatened to flood him. "I have come to see Aniror. Is she within?"

Damrod placed his hand on his breast, his face ashen. "Faramir, do you think that wise?"

"There is no wisdom in this," Faramir said coldly, anger causing his limbs to tense, his joints to clench. "There is no sense, no reason. Why should so much be taken from me? Brother, father, wife. It is cruel, most cruel."

"My Captain," Damrod lamented. He shielded his eyes with his hand to disguise his tears.

Faramir shifted his jaw. "Mind your sorrow and do not weep. I cannot bear it."

Damrod nodded slowly. "Your forgiveness then, Faramir. I shall delay you no longer. Yes, your wife is within, but I fear you may not know her Elven face. It has changed so."

"I knew her not in life, what should change in death?" Faramir brushed past his friend, his hand finding the doorknob and twisting it open.

The room lay dark before him, save for a single candle set upon a chair. In the center of the chamber, he caught sight of a body resting upon a bier. A pearly shroud covered the corpse, hiding the ruined features.

The coldness of the room struck Faramir and he leaned against the open door for a moment. His legs were numb, frozen and he doubted the surety of his stride.

He would falter. Yes, he would falter and fall.

Damrod hovered behind him, his presence steadying, comforting. "You need not go in now," he said.

Faramir shook his head and stood tall. "I must, she would want it so."

Damrod said nothing. Faramir gestured at the door.

"Shut it."

"My lord?"

"Close it, Damrod. I should want no curious person to come along now."

The door clicked closed, leaving naught but shadows and the chill that death brought. Faramir shivered and approached the shrouded figure.

Damrod's soft breathing sounded behind him. Faramir paused by the bier, his fingertips grazing the shroud. Could Aniror truly lie beneath it? Could his wife truly be dead?

With a stifled cry, he pulled back the cloth. A gasp frooze in his lungs.

A creature lay upon the bier, one that did not resemble the Elf he knew. The face was swollen, the closed eyes bulging in their broken sockets. Faramir had never seen Aniror close her eyes in such a manner. No, she always slept with them open…

"I…I…" And he stumbled back into Damrod, his legs giving way. The door opened and in strode Mithrandir. Faramir felt the wizard's hand upon his wrist.

"Come," he said in deep, husky voice, "it is too much for him still. Come, let us bring him outside into the light."

Damrod wrapped his arms underneath Faramir's shoulders and pulled him from the chamber. The corpse disappeared from Faramir's sight and at once, he found himself blinking in the bright corridor. He sank against the wall, his head pressed to his knees.

"I do not believe it," he said breathlessly. "I do not believe that thing could be Aniror."

"My poor captain," Damrod moaned. "My lord, she is dead."

"I do not believe it!"

Mithrandir touched the top of Faramir's head. "Be calm now, noble Man of Gondor. You have a son in need of your care. Muster your strength, if only for his sake if not your own."

Faramir raised his head, his sight misted by treacherous tears. "My son, what I am to tell him? What am I to tell poor Miresgal?"

And to that, the wise Mithrandir had no answer.

* * *

Eowyn rested her hand atop Faramir's and watched his face change as he finished speaking. He seemed almost…relieved. 

"Faramir," she said his name softly, a whisper that flew from her lips and brushed the air.

Her husband glanced at her and smiled. "Yes, my dear wife?"

"Oh." Eowyn suddenly felt flustered. She stroked his hand.

"Were you perhaps anticipating some manner of sorrow on my part?" Faramir asked shrewdly.

Eowyn tilted her head to the side, nodding. "Yes, I did. Are you… are you not troubled?"

Faramir seemed to consider for a moment. "No. Not so much as I once was. That time is gone and past. I am glad for it. Yes, I am quite glad for it."

Joy surged within Eowyn, a happiness she could not describe nor wished to.

Faramir stood and Eowyn's hand slipped from his. He walked to the window, unlatched the shutters and stretched his head outside into the sunlight.

"Why, its quite mild," he said, his hair dyed gold, his eyes light. "Will you sit outside with me for a while, Eowyn? Will you sit in the gardens?"

"Yes." She rose, finding his hand once more in hers and allowing herself to be lead away. Sweet breezes greeted her as she stepped outside, laden with the promise of spring and green things that burrowed in the soil. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the winter's chill slide away from her limbs. The sun was warm.

Faramir brought her to a bench and they sat beneath the stark limbs of a old tree. Eowyn reached up, grazing the branches with the tips of her fingers.

"It will grow anew yet," she said.

"If the White Lady comes," Faramir replied.

At once, Eowyn remembered their first precious hours spent in the gardens of the Houses of Healing and how despite the darkness, their love grew.

"Do you wish to hear the last of it?" Faramir asked her. "Though perhaps it is foolish of me to repeat. I believe you already know the end of the tale."

"Yes, but let me listen to it again," Eowyn said.

"If you wish."

* * *

Faramir paced in the gardens, his eyes following only the tread of his feet and not searching for the sky. Young flowers bloomed, perfuming the already heady air about the Houses. The scents of healing herbs wafted from the quiet buildings, mingling with the softer smell of honeysuckle. 

He paused and trailed his fingers along the seat of a stone bench. Aniror had sat there once, only once when she had first come to Minas Tirith. Oh how haughty she had been then and despicable! Hateful, yes that was the word. And yet she had died nobly.

Faramir sank onto the bench and pressed his hands against the stone. Cold, it was cold yet like his father's chambers. How he remembered those seemingly hallowed places, the stern austerity that marked Denethor's life and followed him to the grave. And yet, he had died in madness.

Brother, father, wife. Brother, father, wife. All he had lost, leaving him behind with a babe of a son and the promise of darker days.

Faramir did not weep. No, his tears had run dry. Pain had gnawed at his being long enough, leaving him hollow and cold and lost to an endless emptiness.

What was he to do? And what was he to tell Miresgal?

A white flower poked through the soil by the bench, white like the one Aniror had pressed into his hand before his departure. He touched it, stroked it with his finger and felt the pearly dew slide against his flesh.

He wondered if now she wept for him.

"Do you intend to pluck it, my lord?"

A woman's voice ruptured his thoughts. Faramir looked to the path and saw her standing there, arrayed in white with her hair glistening against her shoulders. She was unlike any other.

"No, my lady," he said and stood. "It shall grow still and I shan't hinder it."

She did not smile and her face seemed frozen beneath some unnamed sorrow. "I am glad for it," the woman said in her clear voice. "It is a solitary flower, one that I have watched from out my window every morn."

He noticed then that her arm was bound in a sling and she wore an unadorned gown, one usually reserved for those residing within the Houses.

The woman walked to the bench, leaning forward to touch one ivory petal. Faramir watched the straight line of her back as she stretched and the way her limbs seemed steady and sure.

A warrior. Yes, this woman had been bred to arms.

"Your name, my lady," he said on impulse. "I must have your name."

She glanced up at him through sharp, blue eyes. "Yours first, my lord."

Faramir smiled and some of the emptiness within melted away. "Faramir, Captain of Gondor… and Steward."

The woman's expression stayed the same, indifferent. "And what has brought you to the gardens, my lord?"

"Your name, my lady."

"Eowyn of Rohan."

"You come from Rohan then?"

"Why the gardens, my lord?"

Faramir checked himself, some of his grief returning as he was reminded of his earlier meditations. "To ruminate," he said, "over what I shall tell my son."

"Your son?"

"His mother," Faramir said. "She is dead."

"Oh." The woman recoiled slightly. "Oh, I am most-"

"Never mind." Faramir shook his head. "My sorrow is not yours and nor should it be."

Eowyn looked at him with a softened countenance. "I too mourn. My uncle," she paused and swallowed, "fallen."

And she looked so pained, so very wounded that Faramir reached forward and touched her shoulder. Eowyn did not recoil as Aniror had. No, she was not like Aniror. Not at all.

"There is much sadness in this place," Eowyn said at length. "And yet such a thing of beauty grows." She stroked the flower once more. "It lives still."

"Will you walk with me, my lady?" Faramir asked. "I do not wish to retire just yet, though the Warden lords over me as though he were my king. Will you walk with me now?"

"I cannot imagine my company to be very pleasant." She strolled past him, her voice lifting above the sharp breeze and lulling his strained heart. "And I cannot think of anything to speak of."

"Then we will walk only and speak naught and watch the flowers in bloom. Will you come with me, my lady?"

Eowyn turned, her hesitation seeming to disappear as a thin shaft of sunlight fell from the otherwise clouded sky. "Yes," she said at last. "I will walk with you."

And so they walked for a time, meeting again on the following day and the next and the next until shy greetings melted into warm ones and they found words they could share.

Together they walked or sat or watched the green grass spring from the earth. Faramir felt himself forget sorrow and found laughter much easier than tears. And Lady Eowyn seemed to find simple happiness in a smile and no longer did she yearn for battle.

After a time Faramir let the chill imposed by Aniror slip from him, realizing at last that he had never loved such a one…and that he could only love Eowyn.

* * *

"I believe that is the end of it," Faramir said and he sighed in relief, placing his arm about Eowyn's waist. Eowyn, however, rose quickly to her feet, pacing on the still cold stones that paved the garden. 

"No, it is not," she said, crossing her arms and shielding her bare hands from the wind. She must tell Faramir, she must.

Tears sprang to her eyes, born of the risk she knew she was taking. Love for Aniror might yet awaken in Faramir's heart, dormant, but always present. Could she chance such a thing, after their own love seemed so sure?

"What is this sudden agitation?" Faramir placed his hands on either side of him, bracing himself on the bench. "Why this sudden emotion, dear Eowyn?"

She paused, her back to her husband. "I…I have been untruthful." The words crept past her lips before she could stop them. Eowyn tried to breathe deep, swallowing away a sob.

"Eowyn?" Concern deepened Faramir's voice. He stood and came to her side. Together, they overlooked the grey and grassy Pelannor.

"She loved you, Faramir," Eowyn said in a voice that trembled. "Aniror. I heard it so, from a servant. Her last words to you spoke of love."

She heard Faramir suck in his breath. "I know."

Eowyn stepped away. "You knew?" she asked, waiting for Faramir to respond, for his eyes to darken with memories of Aniror. But her husband said nothing.

"And does that not move you?" she ventured recklessly. "Faramir, do you feel nothing?"

Faramir slipped his hand into hers. "Perhaps I feel some small measure of sorrow and nothing more. I pity poor Aniror, for she never felt such a happiness that I am now blessed with."

Eowyn smiled, her tears drying in the warm light of the sun and leaving her flesh clean and clear. She turned to look at the Pelannor. A distant storm shepherded clouds about the Western sky.

"There are shadows," she said, "on the Pelannor. See how very dark they are."

Faramir touched her shoulder. The warmth of his loving hand burned through the cloth of her gown "They will pass on," he said, "in some short time."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, that's it! I think I have answered all questions and tied up most of the loose ends, but if I have excluded something, please let me know and I will certainly add it to the epilogue. I would hate to leave any of my lovely readers confused. 

Thanks so much for reading! Please review and tell me what you think. The epilogue should be up shortly.


	25. Epilogue

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Author's Note: Here is the epilogue at last! My apologies for the unexpected delay, but I just had to leave my wonderful readers with a bit of fluff after twenty-four chapters of tragedy. My deepest thanks to everyone who read this story and took the time to leave such wonderful, thoughtful feedback. Thank you all! Your comments have been greatly treasured. As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

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Epilogue

Eowyn adjusted the stirrups, pulling the leathers tight and shortening the length. Miresgal stared at his pony, his head to the side.

"Would you like to try?" Eowyn asked him. She clapped her hand on the pommel of the saddle and the pony flicked his tail.

Miresgal did not hesitate. Nimble fingers found the stirrup leathers and he pulled them taut and away from the pony's flank.

"Like that?" His eyes were bright and wide, wisps of his hair sneaking out of his braid.

Eowyn laughed into her hand. Miresgal frowned.

"Why are you laughing at me?"

"Not you!" Eowyn stifled her mirth behind the sleeve of her moss colored gown. "Why, I think you must be a child of Rohan, so quickly do you learn!" And she tugged playfully at his flaxen plait.

Miresgal's mouth dropped open. "Then I can be a Rider of Rohan, just like Uncle Eomer?"

"Didn't you wish to be a guard of the Citadel?" Eowyn asked shrewdly.

"And an Elven warrior," Miresgal paused, "like Naneth."

Eowyn flipped the reins over the pony's stout head. "You can be all three, if you like." She led the animal over to the fence and Miresgal climbed up into the saddle. His hands fit comfortably over the reins and Eowyn helped to correct his posture, her hand on the small of his back. Often, she marveled at her son's keen intelligence though Faramir said that the minds of Elf children grew quicker than their bodies.

"Now walk him about," she directed with a nod. Miresgal pressed his short legs to the pony's side and moved him in small circles around the enclosure.

Eowyn leaned against the fence, her elbows resting upon the sturdy slats of wood. Sweat made her brow slick and her palms sticky. Already, the chill of the early morning had faded into the heat of the afternoon and a round sun sailed overhead. Spring had come early to Minas Tirith and summer even earlier. Eowyn rolled up the sleeves of her gown, her eyes falling on the Tower of Ecthelion that cast a cool shade over the city. Birds darted across the cheerful blue sky.

And only last year, all had been covered in darkness, the world trembling and falling to despair as all of Mordor poured forth from that black land.

Eowyn pushed the thought away quickly and instead focused on Miresgal who now sat straight in the saddle, his hands soft upon the reins.

"Heels down," she said and he wiggled his feet, his toes sticking up in the stirrups.

Eowyn smiled. Yes, he was learning quickly.

"You can trot him now." And she flicked the edge of her gown, hoping to coax some speed into the pony's gait. He was a sweet creature, with a fine temperament, but terribly slow.

Miresgal clucked his tongue and the pony ambled forward at a slow trot, his small hooves striking the packed dirt with a slight thud.

"Hey ho, easy there!"

Eowyn glanced over her shoulder and Miresgal looked up. Faramir was striding across the stable yard, his tunic slightly opened and loose at the color. The wind had mussed his hair, which lay at odd angles against his sun burnt brow.

Eowyn climbed over the fence and soon found herself in his arms.

"Back so soon?"

"You sound disappointed." Faramir raised a light eyebrow. "Have I been overthrown already?"

"No, but your son is planning to replace you as Steward any day now, if he doesn't become King of the Mark first." Eowyn smiled, the very corners of her mouth twitching mischievously.

Faramir's eyes widened and his dumbfounded expression lead Eowyn to peals of laughter. She kissed his chin. "Has the house been finished yet? I daresay we won't be able to keep Miresgal and his pony penned up in the stable yards much longer. They both belong in the meadows of Ithilien." And she glanced back at the young boy who was urging the pony into an ungainly canter.

Faramir frowned. "Careful now, child," he chided gently.

"Leave him be, bully." Eowyn tugged at a lock of Faramir's hair, making him wince.

Her husband captured her devilish fingers between his own and brought them to his lips. "It seems that my lady would be better suited for the meadows as well. You both have grown wild in my absence."

"Ah, but we always were."

Eowyn whipped about and moved back to the fence, her hands gliding over the rough wooden posts. Faramir joined her, his concerned eyes following Miresgal's steady progress about the enclosure.

"Legolas and his kin have left the garden to you," he said at length, "though already it grows. I had quite the time wading through the honeysuckle and there are a fair amount of rosebushes on the south side of the house."

Eowyn sighed wistfully, her mind galloping amongst images of dew-kissed flowers and endless gardens. "When do we depart?"

"Whenever you like, though our household must be moved first and-"

"Ada! Ada! Watch me, Ada!" Miresgal passed close by the fence, one hand raised to wave at his father.

"He steals my attention yet," Faramir said in an undertone, directing a sharp eye at his son. "Keep both your hands upon the reins, child!" he called. "I should not like to see you go tumbling to the ground."

"Do not listen to him, Miresgal," Eowyn crowed. "He knows naught in the way of horses."

Miresgal gave them both a puzzled look and continued on his way.

"You corrupt him," Faramir moaned, his head against the fence post.

"As do you." Eowyn looked out over the enclosure. "And after all, he is my son. I might do as I wish."

She heard Faramir inhale and a smile formed along her thin lips. Birth and blood, she knew, would never come in the way of happiness.

The sun fell over the stable yards, catching dust and haze and leaving the world gilded.

From out of the shadows a voice came, stern, harsh, yet sorrowful.

__

Guard them well.

It was a warrior who spoke and Eowyn recognized the words, which nestled close against her heart.

Looking up she saw a form standing on a pale balcony above. But the creature was of mist and wind and memory, a thing that had never quite existed at all.

And in a moment the shade was gone, remaining only as a promise Eowyn kept to herself for many years to come.

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The End


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